


Dull Days Brought To Life

by Arleneisme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Awkward Sam Winchester, BAMF Reader, Caring Dean, Comfort Sex, Cute Dean, Dean In Love, Dean Loves You, Dean is Loved, Dean is So Whipped, Dean is a Sweetheart, Domestic Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dean, Gentle Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Mild Language, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outdoor Sex, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Porn With Plot, Protective Dean Winchester, Reader-Insert, Resolved Sexual Tension, Semi Slow Burn, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Some Humor, Strong Female Characters, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Whump, Worried Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:06:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 45,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arleneisme/pseuds/Arleneisme
Summary: Growing up in a small town had never been exciting; each day came and went marching on monotonously. The pain of your past only distant echos of what once was, well, at least until the Winchesters rolled into town. Challenging everything you thought you knew and consequently discovering that your life was anything but dull after all.





	1. One of These Days

**Author's Note:**

> So far I have had a lot of fun with this work, please enjoy and let me feel the love with kudos/comments!
> 
> Also, the town I am writing about actually exists and is called Kanab located in the state of Utah. Like usual I took creative liberty with a few things but Google it just to see the stunning images! :)

‘No cars… not a _single_ car’ you thought exasperatedly to yourself…Shifting in the booth you leaned forward and placed your chin on your folded arms. Gazing out the window you almost felt that you would see a tumbleweed roll by. The diner was deserted making you question _why_ you even bothered to come in today.

Boredom…Stale, flat, unchanging boredom seemed to be the only thing occupying your time living in a small town. With a population of a whopping 223 people (most of which were very elderly you might add) there really wasn’t much to do. Except gossip, oh how your neighbors loved to gossip… it felt like you couldn’t go anywhere let alone take a piss without someone knowing.

Excitement was considered an anomaly in this community, well, except that time some teenagers thought they were hilarious and put a red bra on the town’s cowboy statue. Oh the scandal! The old ladies prattled on about that one for months… Pointing fingers at each other’s families and claiming that ‘back in their day this wouldn’t have happened!’

Blowing air through your lips causing them to vibrate you shoved the obnoxious memory from your mind. Yes, the town was dull but it redeemed itself with the insurmountable beauty that it was nestled in. Bright orange and vibrant rolling red rock mountains caressed the edges of the humble town. Cliffs rising and falling painted with rugged lines showcasing natures hard work over millions of years.

“Mick!” you called pushing your forehead against the glass that you just cleaned, realizing what you had just done you pull back with an agitated groan. Hearing his name, Mick stepped out from behind the kitchen wall continuing to wipe his hands on the hem of his apron. Furrowing his gray eyebrows a grin forming underneath his bushy mustache he responded with the best Lurch impersonation he could muster, “You _ranggggg_?”

Frustrated you roll your eyes, “That aint’ funny Mick! Can you please focus?! Why exactly do you need me here today?” Demandingly you asked, Mick responded with a deep laugh waggling his eyebrows, “Well Sweet Pea’…” he drawled, “I need someone to keep me company of course!”

Rotating on the slick vinyl of the booth’s seat cushion you glowered at him playfully. Exaggeratedly throwing your hands up in the air acting defeated, “Fine! Ok! Apparently it is a comedy club day for you!” Stifling your fit of oncoming giggles you continue, “I’ll find sumthin’ to do…”

After Mick disappeared back into the kitchen laughing about how he cracks himself up you shake your head. As much as you loved Mick’s guts he reminded you of the older brother you never wanted to have. Scooting from the booth pushing yourself up from the table you glance around trying to find something to immerse yourself in until closing.

Settling on checking and restocking the condiment dispensers you wander to their location at the back of the restaurant. Unscrewing the lids you peer in for the umpteenth time to see if they need to be topped off. Wrapping up your task you turn and see two men arguing on the sidewalk directly in front of the restaurant’s main window.

Immediately, the scene sparks your curiosity causing you to subtly move closer in an effort to try and make out what they are saying. Attempting to look inconspicuous you hastily pick up your discarded wash rag and begin wiping down the table you occupied just minuets earlier.

Thanks to the drafty old windows in the restaurant you are able to get an idea of what they are saying. It is clear that both men were agitated, the taller of the two a slender man with shaggy brown hair, maybe in his mid 20’s you guessed, clenched a worn road map in his hand. Using his opposite hand he forcefully tapped on a specific spot you couldn’t make out with his forefinger.

“…Now is not the time Dean! We need to get here ASAP!” Punctuating his statement he tapped the map harder. “Stop thinking with your stomach and think with your head! I know you have a brain in there somewhere!”

All the while the other man, you assumed was Dean, stood with his arms folded stubbornly across his broad chest as he watched his friend rant. His scruffy jaw angular and tense, plush lips pointed down in a frown, you could tell he wasn’t having it and was going to get what he wanted.

Looking them over you observed their attire, plaid… they both were definitely into plaid...and…jackets? ‘Why the hell are they wearing jackets?! ’ You thought to yourself, ‘it’s 90 degrees out today!’ From what you surveyed you concluded that they weren’t from around here probably drifters or tourists just passing through.

Tuning back into their conversation you watched the bickering continue, Dean who had a handsome edgy look to him, possibly in his late 20’s, unfolded his arms swinging them in the direction of the restaurant window. Flinching you stiffened in a panic, mind racing believing they had caught you eavesdropping. Relief washed over you when realization hits that Dean was motioning about coming inside and eating at the diner.

“Listen Sammy! I am hungry, and when I am hungry my brain doesn’t function! So lets go in there, grab some burgers and maybe some pie…” The brunette, which you figured was Sammy or probably Sam, huffed in annoyance, “What is your fixation with pie?! ” Tightening his jaw Dean ignored the interruption picking up where he left off, “And maybe get some pie and then we will go and do your little research escapade after! Ok? Ok!”

Whipping around Dean stomped towards the front door leaving his friend standing dejectedly on the sidewalk, ‘Well, maybe his brother?’ you wondered, ‘Friends don’t talk to each other like that but I know siblings that do.’ Being so lost in thought you didn’t realize Sam was still standing outside observing your actions. Blushing in embarrassment, you looked down scrubbing the table a second more and hurrying off.

Rounding the corner to the storage room you press your back against the wall as you hear the familiar bell chime cheerfully as the front door opened. Attempting to compose yourself you smoothed your baby blue dress and adjusted your apron. Taking a deep breath and gathering your courage you proceed slowly to the front.

Grabbing two menus off the bar you approach both men, noting that Sam, all be it looking annoyed, joined Dean in the restaurant. Flashing your best smile you greet them warmly, “Hello boys! How you doin’ today? Take a seat in the booth over by the window and we will take care of ya.”

The pair acknowledged your greeting and smiled at you, Dean who was apparently famished spoke first, his voice was deep, rough and almost gravel like, “Well hello there darlin’! We are fantastic and absolutely starved.” He exclaimed heading toward the booth flashing his counterpart a mocking glance that received a glare in a response.

Once they were seated you handed them their menus, “Our special today is our Philly but my personal favorite is our burger.” You suggested smoothly as you filled their water glasses. Hearing talk of burgers Mick poked his head through the order window and quipped, “And not to brag or nuttin’ but I make the best damn burger in the state! All my beef is homegrown by yours truly in my own backyard. Don’t forget that Sweet Pea!”

Slapping his menu down on the table and draping his arms comfortably across the back of the booth he declared, “That sounds fantastic! We’ll get two burgers with fries and two beers.” Scribbling down his order for good measure you pointed out, “We don’t serve beer here and our alcohol in town is watered down anyway. Lower alcohol content is a law in this state… Don’t waste your time. Soda ok?”

Dean nodded interjecting before Sam could speak, “Soda’s are great! Cokes for the both of us.” Once again, Sam rolled his eyes in defeat and shrugged, “Yup, sounds great. Thank you.” Scratching down the rest of their order you tore it from your note pad, clicking your pen promptly and slipping the items in your apron pocket.

Passing by the order window you began to clip up your notes for Mick when he swipes it from your hand and broadcasted obnoxiously, “Thank ya kindly Sweet Pea!” Grinning you playfully stick your tongue out at him, Mick loved trying to embarrass you in front of customers.

The hiss of fresh raw patties hitting the grill promptly followed as Mick swiftly set to work. Cuing you to get to work as well, filling their drinks you hurried back over placing the glasses in front of each of them. Sam was too engulfed in his laptop to acknowledge his drink but Dean regarded you with a dazzling smile.

As you were about to turn to leave and assist Mick in the back, Dean reached for your hand brushing his fingers along your left wrist. Pausing your departure, you direct your attention back to him. Desperately making an effort not to show the heat that was creeping up your neck from the contact.

“Sweet Pea?” He questioned cocking an eyebrow, feeling yourself flush further you offer an explanation for the silly moniker, “It was a nickname given to me as a child, everyone in town calls me it. I am pretty sure the majority of them have forgotten my real name actually.” Chuckling softly you smile moving your hand from his touch, sliding it up to grasp the back of your burning neck.

Responding to your chuckle Dean cracks a smile, so wide it crinkles the edges of his eyes making them twinkle. Studying you closely he reassured, “I like it, it suits you. Thank you again for the drinks Sweet Pea.” Nodding subtly you moved your hand from your neck patting his hand that once touched yours softy, “You are very welcome, it’s part of my job. Although, I don’t believe I ever caught your name…or your friend’s…” Tilting your head towards Sam along with your inquiry.

Yes, you were playing dumb…Yes, it was silly but you didn’t think it got much creepier than ‘Hey! I was listening in on your scuffle and learned your names with my epic stalker status.’ Dean cleared his throat attempting to draw his friend’s attention from whatever he was doing but to no avail it was clear he was deep in thought.

Taking the lead he made introductions, motioning to Sam first, “Sasquatch over there is Sammy…” Sam’s eyes shot up from the screen and retorted coldly, “It's _Sam_ …” Bringing his fist up to his mouth Dean coughed back a laugh then corrected himself, “Yea. Sorry. This is my brother Sam and I'm Dean. Pleased to meet cha.” Lightheartedly he reached out his hand towards you offering a handshake.

Studying Dean and Sam you mused, it made sense now… they were brothers and Dean was obviously the older sibling based on the dominant teasing attitude. Playing along with the silly introduction you took his hand and shook it firmly speaking in your best businesslike tone, “Pleased to meet ya good sir.” The intense staring contest you both were caught up in was broken when Mick hollered, “Ding, ding! Foods ready!”

Sliding your hand from his you retrieve and bring their meals over sliding each plate in front of them. Pressing the serving tray against the front of yourself with both hands cheerfully you speak, “Enjoy! If you need anything please let me know!” Glancing up as he is about to stuff a fry in his mouth Dean implied curiously, “Pie? Do you guys have pie?”

Before you could answer Mick jumps in at the most inconvenient time like he always does, “Pie? None here, but Sweet Pea makes the best homemade apple pie I ever did taste. Sweet Pea! You should invite these fine gentlemen to yer place for pie sometime.” Shifting from one foot to the other awkwardly you leer at Mick shooting daggers at him with your eyes.

Shrugging your shoulders you play off Mick’s suggestion, “Best pie ever? I don’t think so Mick…” Staring down you turn to go, “Excuse me boys I have some things that need my attention in the back.” Rushing off you spend the rest of your shift isolated in the back doing stock inventory.

Closing time rolls around and the brothers are still firmly planted at their table talking to each other in hushed tones so no one can hear. If you were a cat you would be dead because once again you are curious, these brothers are so mysterious. Unfortunately, as badly as you wanted to stay there were people at home that needed you more. Preparing to leave you remove your apron and place it on the counter calling to Mick, “I’m headin’ out Micky! Aunt Paula said she needed me home sooner than later.”

Mick’s gruff voice came from the kitchen where he was scraping the grill down, “Sounds good Sweet Pea! See ya tomorrow! Oh, and tell Paula I said howdy!” Pulling your car keys from your pocket gripping them firmly you make your way to the entrance. Pushing your palm against the door swinging it out as you exit the building the chime resonating. Halfway through the door-frame Dean called, “Hey Sweet Pea! Don’t forget you still owe me that homemade pie.” After you laughed warmly he gave you a wink that made your knees feel weak.

Leaning your back against the glass door you wink back and joked, “Of course Dean! One of these days you and Sam swing on by.” Waving goodbye you shift your weight off the door stepping out into the warm evening air breathing deeply to clear your head as you walk to your car. Unlocking the door you pull it open with a creak and collapse inside.

Disappointedly you press your head against the steering wheel muttering to yourself, “Of course Dean! One of these days swing on by… Yea, too bad you are a drifter and I will never see you again…Just like everyone else…”

Inserting the key into the ignition you twist it bringing your car to life with a roar, pushing in the clutch shifting it into gear you speed home.

You thought you were never going to see Dean Winchester again? Oh how wrong you were… So _very_ , _very_ wrong. This was only the _beginning_ …


	2. The Armadillo Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So lost in thought, absorbed in the text you failed to hear the front door open and the sound of someone shuffling in. Clearing their throat your eyes shot up and suddenly you were face to face, again, with Dean. The man you never thought you would see again, who plagued your thoughts ever since you left the diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True to my word, here is another chapter! Let's keep the good times rolling, do you think Dean will ever get some of that delicious pie?
> 
> Also, yes I did change the aunts name! Felt like Paula fit better. :)

The following day you were confined to the front office of your aunt’s motel the ‘ _Armadillo Estate’._ Aunt Paula had other matters to attend to leaving you in charge or ‘holdin’ down the fort’ as she always stated. There wasn’t much to ‘hold down’ here though, today was especially quiet probably due to the fact that the tourist season was coming to a close.

Leaning over the smooth wood grained counter propped on your forearms you silently thumbed through your father’s old mythology book. The cover was worn and shabby from being handled constantly by your late father and now you. Glancing over his notes scrawled in the margins of the crinkled pages a sad smile played at your lips.

Aunt Paula didn’t much approve of your deep passion for urban legends and dark history of the unknown. Ultimately she gave up the fight after finding you sound asleep on a pile of your father’s books as a 5 year old. Snuggled deeply into his papers clutching his favorite mythology book to your chest. Breathing slowly and dreamily smiling to yourself muttering, ‘Daddy… I love you daddy…’

As you grew, so did your curiosity and after constant hassling she eventually admitted, “I couldn’t tear you away from those books Sweet Pea, if that's what brought you closer to yer daddy…” Tears welled in her aging eyes, sliding down her weathered cheeks, “Then I was gonna’ let it be…” she finished softly. Nothing broke your heart more than seeing her cry so from that point on you no longer pushed the subject.

Pulling yourself from the thoughts of your childhood you sat up running your hand through your hair. Tilting your head gazing intently out the window which you had propped open inviting a cool breeze into the stifling office. Rain softly pelted the windows flooding the rain gutters and trickled down the tin roof of the porch, drops falling to the dusty earth.

In the desert it didn’t rain much but when it did… Oh how the people in town treasured it. No one complained or whined about the weather instead they kindly thanked the heavens. As a teenager you always felt compelled to dance in it and to your aunts dismay she always caught you in the dark of night twirling about completely nude.

There was something about rainfall that you found healing, as if it washed away the parched discontentment of your soul. Believing that wherever the rain touched, trailed down and caressed was left renewed… so… in your adolescent mind you found it only logical to be naked in the process.

Shutting your eyes inhaling deeply you savored the smell of cactus flower and the strangely satisfying musty smell of wet red clay. The rain always seemed to kick up your favorite smells; it was as if the skies knew what you needed. The book felt heavy in your hands, drawing you out of the hazy state you had enveloped yourself in. Flipping to a dog-eared page you settled on your favorite chapter about Night Deities.

Admiring the photo of the Norse night goddess Nótt riding her horse that was located directly below the text’s description your finger tracing over the figure of the horse. The painting was dark and some would say dismal but you found beauty in the darkness, no matter how long you studied the painting you never tired of it.

So lost in thought, absorbed in the text you failed to hear the front door open and the sound of someone shuffling in. Clearing their throat your eyes shot up and suddenly you were face to face, again, with Dean. The man you never thought you would see again, who plagued your thoughts ever since you left the diner.

Sheepishly he peered at you, his clothes soaked and clinging to his toned form a hefty black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Stepping towards the desk he spoke with an amused tone in his voice, “You work here too? It seems like I can’t swing a dead cat without hitting you.”

Flirtatiously straightening yourself up, bracing both hands on the counter you leaned your body forward. ”Well my darlin’ small town means a limited amount of people…A limited amount of people means I have multiple roles and responsibilities.” You said in a politely smooth tone grinning widely at his dumbfounded state.

Picking up the motel’s sign in book you push it toward him grabbing a pen and resting it in the crease of the pages, you proceeded to inquire, “How long will you be staying Dean?” Standing stunned his eyes raked over your form, feeling satisfied you confirmed that he was ogling you.

The philosophy that you lived by was that confidence came from comfort, now that you weren’t wearing your stuffy waitress uniform you exuded poise. Feeling comfortable you wore your favorite pair of skinny jeans tucked into your scuffed cowboy boots. The threadbare material of your fathers old Led Zeppelin t-shirt hung off your shoulder revealing your tanned skin. Peeking from under your shirt the chain of your silver necklace graced the curve of your neck.

Clearing your throat you repeated the question, “How long will you be staying Dean? I am assuming Sam is staying with you as well? Two queen-sized beds correct? Or do you like to get cuddly in the night?” After realizing that he was staring Dean tried to play it cool, “We will be staying a few nights…and honestly Sweet Pea, I am all about the physical contact, just not with my brother…” he shuddered at the thought scrunching up his face.

Feeling flattered that he remembered your nickname you laugh and begin filling out the necessary forms as Dean answered the rest of your questions. Wrapping up the transaction you take his card, subtly he tried to hand it over face down. Following protocol you flip it over and read the name printed on the front raising your eyebrow.

Dean shifted nervously as you eyed him repeating the name out loud, “Marty S. Wallowitz? If I am remembering right, and correct me if I am wrong, but… I thought your name was Dean…” Stumbling trying to find an explanation you hold your hand up to stop him, “Business is business darlin’ and during these times I am learning not to ask questions. I don’t want my aunt’s motel to go under.”

Nervously laughing he nods a silent ‘thank you’ in your direction; while you file the invoice away Dean’s eyes wander around the aged but tidy front office. Working his way back his eyes fell on the well-worn text that lay forgotten and left open, “Night Deities?” He questioned observantly, “That seems like some heavy readin’ for a little lady like yourself.”

Realizing your mistake you snatched the book and snapped it shut placing it under the counter apologizing, “My aunt doesn’t like me reading this stuff up front because she worries it will disturb the guests…but I was bored stiff and you can only stare at the tour guide brochures so long…Sorry bout that…” Jabbering you flash him an apologetic smile and hand back his stolen card.

Taking it, his fingers linger feeling the softness of your palm finally taking it he quickly tucked it into his back pocket and confided, “No, no I like that stuff… I am all about the learnin’! Well… actually Sammy is all about the smarts…but I do enjoy myself a good ol’ urban legend.”

Feeling a flutter in your stomach you toss him his room key, “Room 1, you are nice and close to me, that way I can keep an eye on ya. No causing trouble in my town you hear me?” You teased proceeding to lean against the counter again, Dean swirls the key ring around his finger strolling towards the door but stops himself before leaving.

Glancing over his shoulder he added optimistically, “When are you going to be invitin’ me over for some of that homemade pie Sweet Pea?” Tilting your head you extend an invitation, “How about you go to your room get out of your wet clothes and come back here. Our living space is above the office, bring Sam along I don’t want him feelin’ left out.”

Hiking his duffle bag higher up on his shoulder, “Sounds wonderful Sweet Pea.” He enthusiastically responded making his way through the door towards his room. Feeling a new sense of urgency you straighten the front office and hurry upstairs to make sure you have the necessary items to make pie.

 

 

 


	3. A Patient Person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me longer to post! I have been busy the past few days, ya know how life goes. Am I right? Anywho, enjoy and as always, comment, kudo and let me feel your love!! :)

Index cards with details and directions scrawled across them were not needed when it came to making your pie. The recipe was ingrained in your mind as if it were a verse from the Bible that you confided in for guidance. After rummaging through your cabinets and refrigerator you are happy to find that you have all the required ingredients to make your special pie.

Collecting all the items in your arms you close the fridge’s door with your foot and move over to the counter. Organizing everything in a line on the yellow and flecked surface you proceed to pull out the measuring cups, rolling pin and your favorite glass pie dish.

Going through the motions of your process working swiftly on autopilot you arch to the side and flip the oven on to preheat. Patience was key for making the perfect pie, taking the time to measure everything exactly; rolling the crust to the perfect thickness was something the impatient could not handle.

Just as you cup the chilled green apple in your hand placing the sharp blade to it you hear the main office door open and close. Followed by Dean’s booming voice calling out for you, “Sweet Pea? Where are you at?” Descending the stairs you could hear the brothers murmuring to each other, stepping lightly down the narrow creaking stairs the pair came into view.

Stuffing your left hand in the back pocket of your jeans the curve of your hip swaying out you wave at Sam whose attention you grabbed first. Dean’s back faced you but after seeing Sam wave back with a friendly smile he shifted his body parallel with yours.

Instantly, the more serious expression on his face perked up as he walked towards you. “Well hello Sweet Pea” Dean purred, “Lets have some of this amazing pie I keep hearing about.” Lifting your finger you tuted him, “Uh, uh, uh my pie takes time and good things come to those who wait. How bout’ you boys follow me upstairs and I’ll get ya all settled.”

Swiftly turning and beginning your ascent up the staircase you feel Dean’s gaze bear into your back. Knowing the stairs well you figured he was getting a great view of your ass due to the steepness of the stairs. Stepping across the threshold you extend your arm out welcoming them into your home. Once both men had moved forward into the family room you closed the old hollow door shut with a thud.

The apartment wasn’t much to brag about but it was comfortable even though it screamed, ‘I was decorated in the 70’s!’ The burnt orange shag carpet and the oak wood paneling cast a warm and inviting feeling while the vintage Native American pieces and hand painted art filled every square inch of the space.

Dean strolled over to one of the larger paintings framed in a heavy salvaged barn wood frame that hung directly above the worn leather couch; out of all the paintings in your aunt’s home the one Dean was drawn to had always been your favorite.

Lifting his right hand up he placed his forefinger to his pursed lips in deep thought his eyes scanning the painting intently. Dean cleared his throat looking at you and motioned his head towards the painting and inquiring, “That’s quiet the interesting painting, where did ya get it?”

Wandering over to him you stand so close to him that your arms were nearly brushing. Folding your arms across your chest, tilting your head you gazed at the painting and answered his question, “My Aunt Paula actually painted it, isn’t it beautiful? Allegedly she camped out at this location for 3 weeks to get the painting just right…”

Beginning to lose yourself in the painting you continued, “The formations are called ‘hoodoos’…what I find fascinating about them is that it seems as if they defy gravity.” Moving your hands in a flowing rolling motion you explain how they are created, “Thousands of years of freezing rain and wind slowly erode the rock away leaving these formations.”

As you continued to drink in the painting Dean’s gaze that you felt earlier was burning into you once again. Turning your face your eyes met with his, intensity climbing, so high you could have sworn you felt electricity between you. Those expressive deep green eyes of his darted down glimpsing at your lips that softly parted in a pouted smirk.

Licking his own lips Dean opened his mouth beginning to speak when Sam, who was wandering the room, interrupted, “You must really like Native American History.” Stopping to lightly skim his fingers over the rim of an old clay pot he marveled, “Look at all these beautiful artifacts.”

Snorting loudly Dean began to jest, “Come on college boy! Don’t go all nerdy book smarts on me here!” Sam retorted, “Well there is much more to life than food, woman and rock and roll Dean…” As you watched them banter you gathered that it was a close relationship and in all honesty you found the bickering kind of sweet.

Sauntering over to the bookshelf where Sam stood you reached to the middle shelf picking up a small obsidian arrowhead. Turning it over in your palm it’s chipped edges glinting in the dim light of the family room. Appreciating its subtle and sharp black beauty your mind wandered like it always did, recalling the memories that were attached to the piece.

Memories of your father were scarce but the day you found the arrowhead currently cradled in your palm was one of the most vivid you had. The day was hot, running barefoot and wild you made your way to the discreet creek by the motel. Tiptoeing along the riverbed the chilly water tickled your feet providing an escape from the parched desert heat, that’s where you spotted it. If your eyes weren’t cast down as you walked you would have completely passed it by.

The midday sun peeked through the dry scrub oak braches causing the arrowhead to glisten, as it lay partially submerged in the clear water. In wonder you tentatively reached for it, once you realized what it was you were so overcome with excitement you raced up the muddy knoll.

Waving it above your head you squealed, “Daddy! Daddy! Look wha’ I found Daddeeee!” Dashing across the lawn you landed directly into his outstretched arms proudly showing him your discovery. His dark brown eyes danced with joy as he hugged you close to him observing the discovery in your small hand.

“Oh Sweet Pea!” His deep voice exclaimed happily, “Look what ya found! I am so proud of you! We need to put this on our bookshelf so everyone can see it, yea?” Liking that idea you nodded gleefully, “Yes Daddy! Yes! I wan’ Auntie to see it too!” Chuckling softly he smiled warmly down at you undoubtedly proud of your enthusiasm.

Pulling you closer he kissed the top of your head, “Your mama would be so proud of you too Sweet Pea, obsidian arrowheads were her favorite. To her they were more valuable than diamonds or gold…” He said his voice soft with affection, “I love you very much my little Sweet Pea…” Cupping his face in your hands you gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek his scruffy dark brown beard tickling your face causing you to giggle.

“I luh’ you too daddy…”

The vivid memory caused a sad ache to develop in your heart, mustering a smile you returned the arrowhead to its rightful place. Looking up at Sam you paused briefly contemplating if you should even mention your father, “Actually Sam… My father was quiet the Native American enthusiast and had a deep love for history as well.”

Motioning to the couch you encouraged, “Please take a seat on the couch boys…” Proceeding to turn your back you headed to the kitchen glancing over your shoulder hinting, “Or if you want to see delicious magic happen you are more than welcome to join me in the kitchen.” Adding a bit more sway to your hips as you moseyed through the doorway into the kitchen.

Settling by the sink beginning to peel the apples the brothers spoke amongst themselves, you speculated they were attempting to keep it down so you wouldn’t hear. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to them they were failing miserably as you could almost hear everything they said. Shaking your head in amusement you thought, ‘Men can be so silly sometimes…’

Dean hissed, “No way Sammy you aren’t going in there with me!” Sam protested, the irritation in his voice clear, “Come on Dean! It’s not your duty to pick up every gorgeous girl that you meet! I feel like I am getting somewhere with her and I wanted to ask her more questions.”

Silence fell between them, in your mind it seemed as if the silence was so heavy you would suffocate. Your hands stopped working, unwilling to move, as they demanded your full attention be focused on the conversation behind you. The kitchen knife was still partially slid under the rich green skin of the apple in your hands.

After what felt like an eternity Dean sighed the voice that followed was softer… less aggressive taking on an almost pleading tone, “I know Sammy… Your right she is gorgeous but there is something more about her that I can’t put my finger on. Lemme’ go in there alone and talk to her.”

The sensation of butterflies rustled deep within you spreading like wildfire reacting to Dean’s words. Certainly you knew that you were attractive, you were confident and comfortable in your own skin, but hearing it out loud especially coming from Dean…well…that was different. There was nothing more intoxicating and exhilarating than the tingle that goes hand in hand with feeling twitterpated.

Dean faltered briefly giving Sam enough time to respond sincerely, “Ok, ok Dean, you go in there and I will stay here to checkout more of these artifacts.” Hearing Dean cheerfully thank Sam accompanied by the sound of a hearty slap on the back startled your hands into motion again.

Chopping the apple into thin slivers you set it aside, as you began peeling the next apple you became aware of Dean’s presence in the room. Moving into your peripheral vision you saw his hand reach for one of the freshly cut apple slices. Before you could abandon your work to swat his hand away he quickly popped it into his mouth giving you a mischievous smile.

Positioning the peeled apple and knife next to the completed slices you moved quickly playfully slapping his hand away when he reached for another slice, “Those are for the pie darlin’, if you keep stuffing your face with them we wont be having apple pie, instead, we will be munchin’ on pie crust!”

Throwing his hands up in surrender comically he laughed, “Yes ma’am! Forgive me! I couldn’t resist, green apples are my favorite…well…in pie of course.” Concurring with his statement you gave a wide grin, “Hey, mine too. Can’t get enough of em.” Pulling out a bowl from the cabinet by your legs you began mixing the ingredients by hand.

After rolling out the crust you stretched to reach the glass pie dish that you set carefully on the counter but now the space was occupied by Dean who was leaned up against the edge watching you.  Thinking he would step to the side when you moved forward your bodies ended up being firmly pressed together as he stood his ground. “Oh!” you breathed in surprise, “Sorry about that Dean! I thought you would move.” Standing together neither of you made an effort to move, with your ear close to his chest you could hear his heart hammering.

His eyes flashed a heated look of arousal as he spoke softly, “Well…why would I do that? I like being close to you Sweet Pea.” Your natural human instinct sparked a fiery feeling deep down provoking you to rub seductively against him. Dean responded to your touch with a sharp intake of breath and then softly moaning.

Over the years you had developed an incredible skill in the game of cat and mouse. Dean was an extremely attractive man and he could get any woman he wanted you surmised. He wanted you, it was obvious and of course you wanted him too, but you were a patient woman. Why not have a little fun teasing him before the inevitable happens and you cave for him?

Dropping your head back exposing your neck you slid one hand down his hip while the other hand reached behind him. Breathily you whispered in his ear, “Dean…I need…” You pause briefly to give yourself enough time to firmly grip the dish. Dean inquired his voice husky with desire, “Yea? What do you need…?”

Continuing you spoke slowly, “I…need…my pie dish!” Swiftly grabbing it you smoothly turn on your heel back to the prepared crust that sat on the counter. Dean’s mouth hung open in surprise, his puzzled face drove you into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh come on!” He groaned dragging his hand down his face in defeat, triggering another bout of laughter from you. Hearing the commotion Sam strode in stopping in the middle of the kitchen studying the scene before him. A questioning stare on his face as his eyes flashed from you to Dean and back to you again, “Everything ok in here?”

Staring down at the floor scrubbing his hand across his jaw Dean informed his brother in annoyance, “Yes Sam. Everything is peachy keen here.” After recognizing the look on Dean’s face an amused smug look spread across his face as he made the connection. Placing your hands on your hips in a sassy stance you glance at Sam giving him a subtle friendly wink.

Folding his arms across his chest Sam affirmed, “It seems as if the great Dean Winchester has met his match.” Glaring at his brother Dean retorted, “Shut up Sammy.”

Finishing off the pie and placing it in the oven a smile on your face you think to yourself, ‘ This is gonna’ be fun…’


	4. No More Teasing...Please?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo! Chapter 4! Thank you for the comments and kudos, they motivate me! Sorry that I am slower at writing than I thought, I am incredibly picky and spend a lot of time writing and rewriting. This chapter ended up being longer than I anticipated but hold on my friends because the next chapter will be wonderfully...sensual. What is that I see on the horizon?! Smut?! Glorious and wonderful smut?! But for now do you think the teasing will ever come to an end? Poor Dean... :)

Over the next few days you didn’t see much of the Winchester brothers, Mick was in desperate need of help at the diner and so it fell upon you to pull double time. At the same time your duties at the motel never went away, exhaustion became a physical state that you knew all too well. Every night you would stumble to bed, kicking off your boots not bothering to remove that days clothes and falling into a deep sleep.

When you _did_ bump into either of the brothers it seemed you were heading in a certain direction thoughts racing through your head. With so many responsibilities you only had time to wave ‘hi’ before running off to start the next chore on your checklist.

Although, encounters with Dean were…unique…and profoundly different… The conversations were brief practically done in passing. The contrast came from the pull that you felt to him, it was if strings tied you together tightening with each word. The resolve you once felt was washing away leaving in it’s wake a desire that felt as if it was consuming you.

Every movement he made from the way he walked in his heavy-footed boots to the way he ruffled his short hair caused your heart to thunder and your head to swim. Yes, Dean had an overwhelming impact on you, but...when it came to your flirtatious teasing Dean was not immune. Sexual tension left his pupils blown wide, it was obvious, he wanted you and it was driving him mad.

The next week things began to slow down resulting in more free time, time that you wanted to spend with Dean. Just as you were heading out the backdoor to round the building and knock on their door you heard the familiar metallic sound of the bell on the counter ‘ding’. Silence proceeded for a moment until it dinged again and again and _again_ to the point where it became obnoxious.

Forcing a smile, desperately trying to cover your increasing agitation you briskly made your way to the front desk. Exiting the backroom muttering to yourself, ‘why cant people control their kids? This isn’t a day at the zoo…’ you discovered the culprit of the annoying disturbance that was plaguing your ears.

Casually draped over the desk supporting his weight with one forearm Dean was perched, his hand hovering over the bell, ready to ring it again. Sam on the other hand was shuffling through the outdated brochures on the counter visibly annoyed by his brother’s behavior. Continuing to browse Sam advised sharply, “You know Dean, if _I’m_ feeling annoyed by the ringing I am almost _certain_ that Sweet Pea is too.”

Obviously amused by his brother’s irritation Dean bit his bottom lip mischievously, glancing back to the bell then back to Sam it was apparent he had a wicked idea. Leaving his stare on his unsuspecting brother he lifted his hand higher above the bell. Before he could bring his hand slamming down Dean detected your presence leaning comfortably against the backroom door. Granting an animated smile you tilted your head waiting patiently for him to speak.

Whilst straightening himself out he cheerfully greeted, “Hello Sweet Pea! You are just the woman we wanted to see. Sam and I want to book our room for another week.” Pushing away from the door with the sole of your boot smoothly strolling their direction giving confirmation with a slight nod, “Well! I am just the lady to do that for ya. It must be your lucky day boys!

Reaching the desk you accept the card that Dean hands over, glancing down out of habit noticing it was a new name today. While running the card you lightheartedly joke, “How are those brochures treatin’ ya Sam? Pretty interesting am I right?” Lowly chuckling Sam holds one up, “Totally! There is nothing more exciting than cowboy poetry night!”

In response to Sam’s comment Dean snatches the brochure hastily opening it and exclaiming, “What? No way! That is _so_ cool…” Following the outburst Dean glanced up still holding the brochure in his hands, attention being drawn to the weirded out look both you and Sam were giving him. Stuffing the brochure in his coat pocket flipping the collar of his jacket up he does his best to act indifferent, “I mean…uh…that’s cool I guess…”

Giving a light laugh you grip the edge of the counter and push yourself forward, the neck of your loose cotton t-shirt draping low enough that Dean caught a glimpse of what was underneath. The pendent that you wore on a long chain that was usually tucked beneath your top glinted as it hung between your breasts. As Dean was trying desperately to get a better view you teasingly turn blocking his view as you wrap up their transaction.

Grabbing and tearing the receipt off the reader you hand it to Dean in one fluid motion. Tucking everything where it belongs you decide, “It is actually a good thing you boys stopped by, I was actually about to come by your room and invite you up for a beer.” Your invitation catches Dean’s attention causing him to lift his gaze from the receipt he was studying.

Crumpling the receipt into a ball he tosses it into the small wastebasket by the door. Spinning back around he accepts your request, “Sweet Pea, a beer with a pretty lady sounds great…” But before he could continue Sam cuts in finishing his brothers sentence, “BUT! We have _things_ we had planned, _important_ things…maybe another time Sweet Pea…” Reaching his long arm around Dean’s shoulder he began to drag him out of the office. Dean protesting every step of the way, “Damnit Sam! Can’t it wait? I could really use a beer…”

Shrugging your shoulders in an attempt to not show your increasing disappointment you call to them as Sam herds Dean out the door, “Yea, maybe another time!” Sam waved through the main window continuing to drag Dean whom you can tell is complaining by the way he is throwing his arms around as he swore and spat at Sam.

Once they were out of sight you huff miserably, instead of letting it get the best of you, you grab some old paperwork that needed to be filed away. Balancing the stack in your arms faltering back to where you came before the Winchesters showed up. Dropping the papers with a thump on the dusty antique tool table you wipe the soot from your palms on your faded jeans and get to work.

When it came to filing paperwork the storage room probably wasn’t the best place; lighting was scarce filtering through the dust from one partially broken florescent light. The room felt shabby, discarded even, with cement floors cracked and uneven from the shifting of the earth to the walls that were hidden from view by metal shelves stacked high with sagging boxes.

However, the chill that radiated from the floor had a calming effect, engulfing you in a peace that was rejuvenating. When you were a small child the room frightened you, peeking around the corner into its darkness. As a result of your imagination running wild you were utterly convinced the boogieman resided there hibernating in the darkness under the shelves.

As you matured the fear slowly faded, eventually Aunt Paula assigned chores that had to do with the old storage room. Spending day after day in there you began to feel as if the small room was a safe haven, the musk of old papers and books reminded you of your father. Every night he would sit in his study surrounded by aged books, texts that had been so used they were splitting and crumbling.

Breathing deeply it tingled your nose, in that moment you could have sworn that you were back on his lap nuzzled into the collar of his shirt. Rocking you to sleep in his desk chair, soothing you, running his calloused hands through your wispy curls and humming your favorite tunes that resonated from his chest.

Musky paper always brought you back to _before_ …before the fateful day your father’s fellow officers appeared at the door their hats removed and clutched to their chests respectfully. Faces distraught as they bore news so bad it caused your aunt to crumple to the floor sobbing at their feet.

Before the night terrors poisoned your dreams urging you from your bed and telling you to stand in the middle of the road. Where your neighbors would often find your small form curled up on the ground still in your pajamas screaming at the top of your lungs. Before your life became confusion, chaos and multiple rounds of therapy.

Shuddering you reminded yourself that those times were past; repeating the advice your aunt taught you so many years ago, “Sweet Pea, we have good memories for a reason…” hugging you closer as you sniffled clutching the arrowhead in your small hand she whispered, “they are there for us to remember instead of the bad times…Please remember them darlin’…Please…”

Organizing the outdated papers you slide them into their respective boxes, serenely humming old tunes from your childhood, your head down focused on your work. All of the sudden your body tenses when you feel someone brush up behind you and proceed to wrap their arms around your waist.

Before you could swing around to land a punch against the intruders jaw you freeze when you realize another scent fills your senses. A distinct aroma of leather, faint gasoline, cheap motel soap and something else you can’t seem to pinpoint. Over the past week it became familiar during those fleeting encounters…Dean.

Feeling his soft lips graze along your exposed neck caused your body to surrender reclining comfortably in his steady arms. Reaching above your head running your fingers through his course hair you settle your head to the side granting him access to your throat.

Taking the opportunity Dean placed open mouth kisses along your pulse point, removing one of his hands from your waist to caress the smooth skin of your upper arm. Kissing up to your ear he huskily whispered, “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you…but I had to come back, I couldn’t leave you like that.” Tracing the tip of your finger down his jaw you spoke reassuringly, “It’s ok, I am glad you came back.”

Swiveling your hips in a one swift motion he turned you towards him pushing you gently against the shelf nestling your back between aged boxes. Gradually grinding his hips, in response you press your lower half against him, eliciting a moan which he tries to choke back. These reactions cause you to muse, ‘If desire was the ocean then I was drowning in it and if at this moment I died then I would die happy.’

Hands now clasped behind the nape of his neck you regard him intently beginning to feel your body heat rise. Stooping down bumping his nose playfully against yours Dean pleaded softly against your cheek, “No more teasing Sweet Pea…please.” Hearing these words along with feeling his surprisingly gentle touch you knew the game was over, your determination completely gone... no more running you _needed_ him.

In an attempt to get a better view of him you lean back, the dim light casting shadows on his rugged features, highlighting his high cheekbones and the peaks of his lips. Your right hand trailed down the scruff of his cheek placing it on the side of his face, deep down the urge to explore him further rises.

Brushing your thumb across his lower lip encouraging them to part slightly, closing his eyes he hummed in contentment. Reacting to your touch he tilted his head pressing it against your palm. Breathing in and out slowly you feel his warm breath brush along your fingertips.

Finally it registered, you hadn’t responded to his earlier pleas…it was undeniable you knew it all along and in that instant the finish line was in site and you took the leap of faith...winning the race and ending the game. Standing on tip toe murmuring against his lips, “ _Then kiss me_.”

Without hesitation he closed the gap claiming your lips passionately, warmth emanated from him bringing with it euphoria slowly sweeping over your consciousness. Craving more contact your hands slip away from where they sat, gliding down his firm chest ending up against his back.

Pushing under the layers of his clothes your hands come in contact with the bare flesh of his lower back. Running your hands up the muscular crease of his spine you feel your way until they rest between his shoulder blades bringing your bodies closer together.

Nibbling on your bottom lip he begins to tempt you further, removing his hands from your waist he drags them up your abdomen causing your breath to hitch. Little by little those skilled hands smooth over your ribs following your curves down your figure. Just as he is about to grab your ass he abruptly stops breaking the kiss staring at you with wide eyes.

Feeling self-conscious for probably the first time in your life you peer through your lashes at him. The look of surprise remains, "Are you…? Wait...do you pack heat?!” he said with simple directness amusement behind his eyes. Shyly looking down realization struck that you had forgotten to mention the revolver tucked carefully in the back of your pants.

Looking up at him you guiltily admit, “Yes… I do actually. Sorry should have mentioned it to you earlier…” Shifting away he eyed you curiously, “Ya know, you are full of surprises. Whenever I think I have an idea of who you are something new pops up.” Pausing briefly his fingers flit across the back of your hand then pressed further, “Can I see it?”

Feeling unsure, you mull it over in your head for a moment trying to decide what to do. Eventually you came to a conclusion, “Sure, you can look but don't touch...I do have the safety on for good measure though.” Deliberately you arch your back angling your body for better access, hand sliding behind you firmly grabbing your gun.

Removing it from its holster cautiously you reveal it to him; you had nicknamed it ‘ _black beauty’_ because that was your first impression when you laid eyes on it. The butt of the gun was black as midnight and curved in an elegant manner, the symbol of a bird inscribed in silver set neatly at the top. In contrast, the chamber and barrel were a matte metal that was slightly rough to the touch. Together these characteristics complimented each other making the revolver both beautiful and deadly.

Standing to the side Dean watched intently as you studied the gun in your hands, “But…why do you need to carry a gun?” he inquired going about his questions with caution. Smoothing your hand over it once more you tuck it back into its holster, pulling your shirt down concealing it once more.

“My daddy was the Sheriff, though I don’t remember much about him…I do remember hearing him mention that the world was an evil place. That we needed to protect ourselves…So…I carry a gun.” Shifting awkwardly you scoot away from him but notice there is a new surge of desire raging in his eyes.

Just as he was about to pull you close once more you hear the front office door slam open followed by thundering steps. “ _God damnit Dean_! I _know_ you are in here! You say you need to take a leak and that you’ll ‘be back in just a second’. Then sneak in here, what are you _15_?! Come out now! We have work to do!” Barked Sam, which Dean responded to by merely giving an irritated eye roll.

Reaching down you obtain a piece of scrap paper from the floor, pulling a pen from your back pocket you scribble down some coordinates handing it to Dean, “Meet me at these coordinates tomorrow morning 8 am sharp, goddit?” Trying your best to give him a stern face as you playfully boss him.

Folding it carefully he tucked it inside his jacket, pulling you into a heated kiss that takes your breath away. Retreating from the kiss he gazes at you in wonder, “There you go again, being mysterious…I fucking love it.” Attempting to kiss you once more you are interrupted by the furious shouts of Sam in the background, “DEAN!!!!”

Giving you a wink and a sly grin Dean heads out, “Gotta’ go, seems like ' _Nanny Sammy_ ' needs to baby sit me!” Acknowledging the silliness in his voice you laugh turning back to your work, now instead of the smell of old papers Dean’s scent lingers in its place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> -YES, cowboy poetry is a real thing, I kid you not. It is like beatnik poetry night but with old cowboys. Haha!
> 
> -The gun I referenced in this work is called a Freedom Arms Model 83 for those of you who are curious to see what it looks like.
> 
> Once again, let me feel the love! I get so excited every time I receive a comment or a kudo, they make my day!


	5. Haven't Done This Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I can't apologize enough that it has taken me so long to update this story! I have been diligently working on it practically everyday. The reason it took me so long is because I promised amazing, lovely, glorious smut previously. What I found as I wrote that if I put all of what I wanted into one chapter your heads would have exploded. SO. I am going to post THREE chapters right now! WITH the smut I promised! ;) 
> 
> Please enjoy and ya know do the usual, comment, kudo, love me...validate me...all that jazz! Where do you think those coordinates led? Hmmmmm?

Sunrise began, carrying the golden glow of dawn, chasing away the dark and dragging a new day with it. Creeping up the spiny cacti, and stepping over jagged rocks the light followed nipping at your heals as you drove down the deserted road. Wind whipping through the open window frigid morning air freely moving about the cabin, resting your left arm on the window’s ledge your hand dangles lackadaisically enjoying the fluidity as the air slips through your fingers.

After sweet talking Lars, an old friend of your fathers, you were able to gain access to an old and long forgotten Jeep. In it’s hay-day the Jeep was used by the Sheriffs Department for back country search and rescue, eventually it was retired only to sit dejectedly behind the building. Due to its old age, the department didn’t seem to mind loaning you the jeep, letting you take it whenever you asked.

Granting it was older, the 1978 Cherokee handled remarkably well; sturdy and well built it maneuvered the desert terrain with ease. Choosing a vehicle that would be your travel companion the Cherokee was your first choice, never had it let you down. Consistency and relentlessness were it finest qualities, even firing up on the coldest of days.

Years of being exposed to the unforgiving elements of the desert left the exterior worn down. Rust speckled the beige paint, spreading outward from where it’s panels connected, the decal that extended along the side was cracking and outdated. While some may find these flaws off putting or ugly you found them quiet charming.

Turning into the parking lot the gravel crunched under the tough bulky tires, pulling to the side you promptly cut the engine. Hopping down from the lifted vehicle you slam the door shut with an ear piercing squeak making your way around back. Unlatching the back window you steadily lower the tailgate revealing the provisions you have packed.

Checking once more you feel reassured that you have everything you need. Some may find your ‘always be prepared’ mentality odd but being organized has saved your butt a time or two. Hefting the heavy tailgate back up you round the jeep inspecting to make sure everything else is in order.

Taking a seat on the bumper placing your back against the tailgate relaxation envelopes you while waiting for Dean. Glancing around the dilapidated parking lot you wonder how surprised Dean will be when he realizes this is the location of the ‘mysterious’ coordinates. Ultimately though, the parking lot was just the start of your journey, the real treasure lies amidst the narrow canyons.

Taking in your surroundings you browse the horizon searching for any sign of activity, eyes trailing along the line where the desert meets the sky ending on the main road. At that moment you hear the roar of the Impala moving rapidly down the road hurtling in your direction. Listening closer you are able to pick up the powerful sound of the engine lulling momentarily as it is shifted into another gear.

Hauling down the road, the classic car kicked up dust causing the morning light to become murky as it filtered through the flurry of dirt. Playing on full blast Led Zeppelin rings out across the desert floor hitting the mountains and echoing back. Arriving at the parking lot entrance the Impala gradually slows, maneuvering a wide turn and stopping along side your jeep.

Not moving from your spot you patiently wait for Dean to come to you, the once roaring engine purring as it idles. After a moment he kills the engine triggering a sudden stillness that blankets the environment interrupted by the sound of his door opening and closing meticulously. Making his way to you the sound of gravel giving way under his boots instantly thrusts your heart into a flurry.

Continuing to face forward intently studying the horizon you strive to slow the frantic exhilarated pace of your heart. The jeep shifts as you notice Dean position himself next to you, hands resting on the tarnished bumper. Glancing over you see him staring into the distance just as you had seconds before, taking the opportunity during his distracted state you explore the features of his face.

Hazy and creamy morning light illuminates his silhouette emphasizing his profile; the light catching his eyes causing the green to intensify while in contrast his long curled lashes adds gentleness to his stare. The straight point of his nose and sharp cheekbones give him a look of intimidation but upon closer inspection the subtle freckles speckling his complexion provided a more boyish look.

Roaming over each trait you end with his lips, a shot of arousing electricity pulses to your core as he wets his lips with his tongue. Your own mouth tingling faintly as you remember the moment those lips eagerly touched yours. Yearning for his touch your mind wandered to what _else_ his mouth could do.

The pleasing familiar ache snapped you back to the present; realizing where these thoughts are going you attempt to cease your internal hunger by pressing your legs together. Biting your bottom lip so hard you thought it might bleed begging yourself, ‘Come on…keep it together now is _not_ the time!’

Disturbing the silence Dean slapped his hands on his thighs facing you smiling wide, “So! A parking lot huh? Not very exciting if you ask me…” He said jokingly raising an eyebrow for emphasis, “But to each his own I guess…” Waiting for a witty quip back but receiving none his face screwed into a ‘oh shit, I just blew it!’ expression.

Making an effort to fix the non-existent issue that he dreamed up he scoots closer hooking his finger under your chin he tenderly places a kiss to your lips. Still holding your chin between his fingers he continued, murmuring, “But, to be honest, I don’t care where I am at…as long as I am with you.” Casting your eyes down humbly grinning, “Well…Let me explain, this is just the _starting point_ to where we are headed.”

Dean’s interest was peaked by your disclosure, “That why you stole the jeep?” patting the back window he quizzed with a straight face, making you wonder if he was genuinely being serious. Placing one shoulder on the tailgate and folding your arms across your chest body now facing him you retort hotly, “What kinda gal do you think I am Dean Winchester? The _sheriff’s_ daughter a _thief_?”

Opening his mouth to speak but deciding otherwise he promptly snapped it shut; the gears in his head working overtime frantically trying to escape the corner he just backed himself into. Clearly he didn’t want to ruin the good thing going between you two, before he could panic further you burst out laughing.

Poor Dean, you loved teasing him more than you probably should. Obviously your humor went straight over his head, that or usually he did the teasing. Patting his leg reassuringly, “Dean! I’m messin’! I borrowed the jeep from an old friend at the Sheriff’s office.” Slowing the movement into an affection rub flicking your stare up into his you whisper, “I _do_ know how to hot wire a car though…”

Roguishly giving you a smile, practically taking your breath away, he stands pulling you up with him, “Where are we going then? Why do you need to borrow a jeep?” Feeling pleased that you are able to continue to elude him you slip your hand from his walking to the other side of the jeep declaring, “How bout’ you get in the jeep Winchester and find out!”

Footing it to the other side of the jeep he swings the door open grabbing the handle on the ceiling and hoisting himself up taking a seat next to you. Placing the key in the ignition you fire up the engine, resting your hand on the shifter moving it smoothly into first, Dean takes notice of your actions clearing his throat voice filled with concern, “Uhm…Sweet Pea…Why are you shifting into first? There is no where to go…”

Placing both hands on the steering wheel you flash him a sultry smile and wickedly retorted, “Oh darlin’ you haven’t done this before have ya? I recommend you grab the ‘oh shit’ handle above your head.” Steering the jeep over the curb you shift down again tearing off through the desert the stiff jeep bucking and jolting as it glanced off the rocks.

* * *

 

An hour passed by in a blur as you navigated the jeep through sagebrush, crawling over red rock and deserted earth. The saying, ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ most definitely applied to this situation; usually this was an excursion you did alone but with Dean there the journey was much more enjoyable.

Finally reaching your destination you park the jeep at the base of an enormous overhanging cliff, tucked tightly against the rock face shielding it from the sun. Making sure all items are tucked safely away you clip the key’s carabineer to the loop of your jeans hopping from the truck leading the way.

Unloading the equipment from the back you set a khaki colored canvas duffle on the ground whilst you strap on your hiking backpack. As you reach down to grasp the duffle’s strap Dean snags the pack from its resting place casting it easily over his broad shoulders before you can cry out any objection.

Adjusting the fraying strap across his chest he declared, ”What kind of man would I be if I didn’t offer to carry a lovely ladies bag?” Smiling thankfully and continuing to click yourself into the backpack’s harness you caution, “Please be careful you have some valuable merchandise on your back.”

Throwing a thumbs up he cheerfully confirmed, “Don’t you worry Sweet Pea. I got dis’! Although, this duffle is pretty heavy what do you have in here? Bowling balls?” Engaging Dean in the humorous banter he began you give an over exaggerated shrug responding in a sarcastic tone, “So what? Maybe I like to hit the lanes out here in the middle of nowhere.”

Setting off towards the rock face you call over your shoulder, “Really though, please be careful with that duffle!” Taking heed Dean adjusted the weight more evenly across his back, double-checking the strap is secure; bounding after you Dean catches up and matches your stride.

As you weave your way through the rocky terrain you peer over at Dean, both his hands gripped tightly around the duffle’s strap gaping in wonder at the steep and jagged cliff face. Staring up a second more he turns to you, hands gripping tighter hesitation cast over his features, “We aren’t…gonna climb that right?” he questioned while tipping his head in the direction of the cliff.

Prying his white knuckled hands from the duffle strap shaking your head you entwine your fingers empathizing, “No darlin’ we aren’t climbing the cliff.” Relief washed over his face generating a soft smile that played on the corners of your lips. Tugging gently on his hand you guide him to a narrow opening embedded in the red rock.

Beaming at him you lead the way, coming to a halt at the entrance squeezing his hand in reassurance, “We aren’t going _up_ the cliff we are going _through_ it” Raising his eyebrows appearing to be utterly mystified he finally shrugs proclaiming, “And the mystery continues!”

Swatting his shoulder in a fun-loving manner you defend yourself, “If I wasn’t a mystery then I would be dull and quiet frankly being dull is well… _boring_.” Laughing at your own joke produces a chuckle from Dean, “Ya know, you really are something else…” After that, you slip your body through the canyon leading Dean through your stairway to heaven.


	6. It's Heaven Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the mystery continues! :) Where does this stairway to heaven lead?

The year you found the slot canyon you were fifteen…

Adolescence can be a difficult time for anybody; everything suddenly starts to change: your body, your emotions, and your friends…tossing life into turmoil. At the age of 15, the feeling of being a walking pressure cooker on the verge of explosion genuinely had you concerned. Every day got better, taking it one step at a time you began to improve until you heard the other kids gossiping about your parents.

Finding out that your closest friends people you _trusted_ talked badly about your family behind your back was painful, but hearing they were making snide remarks about your fathers’ death? Well…you weren’t a pressure cooker anymore…you became a match being thrown into a vat of kerosene.

Blind with fury you stomped toward the main perpetrator, her back to you gossiping animatedly with her friends. Giving warning was considerate…. right? At least, you tried anyway you could to justify your impulsive bad behavior. Tapping on her shoulder, you paused briefly before lunging, not speaking a word. The force of your body hurled her to the laminate floor of the hallway; noticing the commotion other students ran over circling the fight.

Hopping over her kicking legs you straddled her chest, knees on her upper arms pinning her down using the strength of your legs. Rendering her defenseless you threw the first punch right into the side of her face, and then everything got blurry. Eventually, the gossip train rolled in bringing to light that you practically beat the girl senseless.

Aunt Paula picked you up from school that day, not speaking a word; nodding to the secretary, she left the office marching out of the school with you in tow. Head down you followed her to the car, no words leaving either of your mouths. Driving home there was only muffled muteness in the car as you picked at the frayed edges of your dark hoodie.

Undoubtedly, she was disappointed by your behavior; it was evident from the silence; Aunt Paula wasn’t a woman of words so when things got tough the following days would be filled with painful stillness. Excluding the moments where she muttered angrily to herself, this time she was kicking herself for allowing Lars to show you some boxing moves.

It was that night that you slipped from the house with your hiking pack filled with necessary items for survival, disappearing into the desert. You weren’t running away per-say, more like going on a spirit quest attempting to put your confusion to rest. Feet moving forward you had no fear, nature didn’t scare you…no…it was people who were the wicked ones.

* * *

Thankfully the day wasn't too hot; instead, it was a comfortable temperature with just enough heat in the air to counterbalance the coolness emitting from the rocks. The belief you had that this was the best of both worlds was always confirmed as you traversed the narrow passageway, pressing your body against the gritty sand walls.

Above your head, the vibrant blue of the sky was a sliver caught between the darkness of the canyon. Light trickled through falling in unpredictable patches upon the soft sandy earth. Farther down the path bright light shone constant beckoning you to your destination, "Come on Dean, almost there!" you urged to which he responded only with a grunt as he squeezed between some unusually compact rocks.

Dashing from between the stifling walls you stood in the center of your heaven feeling the sun radiate onto your skin brushing away the cold. Dean followed suit stumbling forward and cursing his lack of grace, “Holy shit Sweet Pea! That was a tight squee…” Abruptly ceasing his comment, complete wonder etched his features.

Stepping forward cautiously curious eyes combing over the scene before him, the narrow canyon path you followed opened into a large space. Red Rock bowed from the ground up to the smaller opening where light filtered in as if the surrounding area was ‘cupped' within the rock walls.

The area was oval in shape and roughly the size of a football field, these characteristics invoked a comfortable ‘homey’ feel to the space. Sagebrush was scarce due to the lack of sunlight leaving only the soft orange sand that shifted smoothly beneath his feet. Waving up and down, the walls of the alcove was colored with various shades of orange and red.

Small overhangs were carved into the rock casting additional shadows across the earth. Apparently, this location was often visited evident from the sleeping bags nestled underneath one of the smaller overhangs. Along with the sleeping bags, there was a makeshift driftwood style table, and on the adjacent side a wood bench with various sized cans lined up across the top.

In the middle of it all, there you stood, tilting your head back letting the warmth run down your cheeks, caressing your exposed throat and washing over the rest of your body. Removing your backpack, you discarded it on the ground next to your feet, still hanging onto it with your hand the strap nearly slipping off your curled fingers.

This place was peace; it was your sanctuary and never in your life had you brought another living soul to experience its wonder. Dean Winchester was special, and you knew it hence the reason you trusted him with your secret. Opening your eyes, you directed your attention to Dean who still stood in the shade.

"What is this place?" he asked curiously, still carrying the canvas duffle he wandered in your direction. Accepting your beckoning, he stood by you basking in the sun, shutting your eyes once more you replied voice overcome with total bliss, "This Dean… this is my heaven, and the canyon we walked through is a ‘slot canyon' or… my stairway to heaven.”

Picking up your reference he brushed his fingers against yours, interlocking your hands. "Well… it is amazing…" Even though your eyes were still closed you could hear the smile, the adoration, Dean may act like a smooth, tough guy but deep down you were finding a gentler person. Continuing he pressed further, "How did you find it?"

‘Should I tell him?’ hesitantly you contemplate, but after thoughtful consideration, you decide otherwise, "That…" Pausing you almost feel guilty continuing to keep some much of yourself a secret, "Is a very long story… for another day maybe." Respecting your privacy, you detect him gingerly squeeze your hand as if silently saying, ‘I understand.’

The story wasn't all that long, but you worried his reaction if you recounted it to him the incident that led you to this place was so odd that for the longest time you were convinced it didn't happen. Denying its existence, you were convinced that its location was a product of another one of your dreams.

Lifting your pack up off the ground you unlace your fingers from his moving forward toward the driftwood table. Leaning it up against the knotted leg you realize Dean still has your duffle, rotating around in his direction you call, “Dean! I need my duffle bring it to me please!”

Jogging over to the table slipping it over his head he sets it carefully on the table then promptly returns his attention to observing everything around him. Unzipping the bag, you begin lining up its contents carefully setting each one down Dean still completely unaware of your actions.

Selecting the most powerful of the selection, you lift one of your better-kept secrets, your heavy-duty shotgun. Why was it a secret? Because if your aunt knew about the impressive artillery collection you owned, she would pitch a fit. Weighing it in your hands musing about what she would say, ‘I never approved of your daddy's guns, and no niece of mine will have such weapons under my roof!'

Quietly giggling you look it over making sure the safety is on and that it is ready for secure handling. "Well…" trying to gain Dean's attention, "Let's have some fun…" Continuing to stare off Dean begins to reply cheekily, "I am all for a good time Sweet Pea, but I didn't come ‘prepared' if ya know what I mean…”

Redirecting his gaze, he smirks while considering your eyes then trailing down your body until his stare lands on the black gun in your hands. Slowly the smugness on his face melts away into astonishment, “Sweet Pea! Whaddya doin’ with that? Uh… you didn’t drag me out here to kill me and bury my body…right?” Laughing nervously, he subtly shifts away from you, discreetly reaching behind him searching for what you would assume to be a weapon.

Beginning to slide the gold and crimson shells into the loading flap of the shotgun you give him a wink, “No darlin’ I don’t do any murderin’ and disposing of the body until the _second_ date.” Pumping the shotgun, a loud click resonates indicating the shells are loaded into place, biting your bottom lip playfully continuing, "Let's see what my little honey can do shall we?” Making sure the shotgun is pointing down you waltz comfortably to your position.

Planting both combat boots firmly on the ground flicking off the safety you focus downrange bringing the butt of the shotgun up to your shoulder. Taking a deep breath lining up your sites you fire with intimidating accuracy, pumping the slide forcing the hot shells out and onto the ground.

With every pull of the trigger, the can's rusted, and bullet-riddled shell would flutter to the ground. The metallic ‘ting’ notifying of each shot that you had sunk, adrenaline flowing freely heightening your senses. Breathing evenly your focus deepens utilizing the natural ‘super power’ that your circulatory system provided.

By the time you were finished the bench was bare, every target knocked down, grainy dust slowly rising. Pointing the gun down once more, flipping the safety into position you head back towards Dean whose mouth is hanging agape. Gently placing the gun on the table focusing your stare on the weapon before you.

Bracing yourself for the flood of questions to follow, just as if you were preparing to fire a round you breath deep. Casually pushing up the sleeves of your jean button up, you finally turn to address Dean who is giving you a quizzical yet aroused look. It seemed as if a girl who knew how to handle her firearms was a major turn on for him, “Where in the _hell_ did you learn to shoot like that?!”

Looking down at the ground kicking at the dirt you feel yourself blush slightly, ‘Why does he have this effect on me?! No man ever has!’ the exasperated thoughts careen through your mind. Rolling your shoulders taking a moment to slow your thoughts down you return his gaze.

Shrugging your shoulders indifferently you frown, “Taught myself actually…” Noting Dean’s lack of belief you proceed defending yourself, “You need to know somethin’ about small towns darlin’.” Holding up three fingers for emphasis you count, “There are only three things you can do, become an alcoholic or drug addict, have sex and get knocked up _or_ learn how to shoot.”

“I chose the latter.” Stating firmly, you concluded by placing your hands on your hips. At that moment, your brain was going haywire due to the way he was eyeing you, usually reading people is one of your strong points. Dean, though, he was a new breed of animal, time ticked but he still stood motionless. Your brain was studying his every movement trying to decipher what he was thinking.

All your life you had never been a girl to back down from a challenge, never had you been afraid to make the first move. All those instincts disintegrated standing before him, watching his chest rise and fall underneath his black t-shirt the rest of his usual wardrobe discarded due to the heat.

The small action of him wetting his lips kindled a tingle between your thighs triggering a quickening of your breath. Flicking up and down his eyes prowled your body, he was analyzing you, taking you in, deciding his next move. This was a game you were a wounded animal, and he was the hunter deciding to let you suffer or put you out of your misery.

Every nerve in your body screamed for him, shouted for him to say something… _anything_. Suddenly, a shaky breath escaped him; you were not the only one feeling the madness of desire that ravenous craving which needed to be fed. The voice that once you thought was low became lower and hoarse has he muttered, “God, you have _no idea_ what you do to me.”

The strings that wound around both of you, tightening with every word, every brush of your hands, every glance of your eyes snapped pulling you in with them. Urgency filled the gaps that the strings left, in an instant, his body was against yours warm and firm kissing you heatedly.

When you found this alcove, you thought this was your heaven, but now that Dean was here, kissing you passionately you mused, ‘It wasn’t heaven… _until now_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few comments:
> 
> \- Yes, slot canyons are real and are VERY beautiful, not for the claustrophobic though!
> 
> -Please, please, please when handling firearms please act responsibly and always use caution!!!! :)
> 
> Thank you guys!


	7. Thank You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay smut!! Sweet, sweet, passionate love making. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it! :)

Dean's rough hands glided over your shoulders, trailing down your arms, winding around your waist. Landing on your ass he lifted you up, reacting instantly you wrapped your legs around his waist, lips never parting. Carrying you over to the makeshift shelter covered by rock, attentively he laid you down upon the rolled out sleeping bags.

Everything moved quickly almost at a frantic pace, spinning so fast it left your mind swimming in burning arousal. Pulling away Dean kissed down your neck busying his hands with the pearl snaps of your shirt. Starting at the top snap and skillfully working his way down, with each undone button his mouth attended lovingly to the newly exposed flesh.

The moment you felt the warmth of his breath grazing along the black fabric between your breasts you shuddered. Pausing briefly, eyes flicking mischievously he noted what caused you to crumble. Exploring further he kissed up the curved mound of your breast, moaning softly, inviting him to proceed you massage your fingers through his mussed hair.

He sighed at the pleasing motions your hands made while continuing in assisting with the removal of your clothing. Un-tucking the hem of your shirt, he slipped the material from the tight waist of your jeans allowing the now unrestrained top to fall open disclosing the creamy skin underneath.

Shifting himself down he wandered your body further, pressing the scruff of his cheek against your stomach eliciting a sharp inhale at the pleasant roughness. Tickling along the waistband of your jeans his lips teased across each nerve leaving every single one demanding more attention.

Leaning back on his haunches grasping your hips firmly he dragged you upright with him.  Setting his strong hand on your lower back he provides support, freeing up your arms enough to quickly do away with your top. Murmuring his thanks that you had a bra that clasped in front instead of the back, tossing it to the side his calloused palms glide up the middle of your back gradually laying you down.

Leaving your hands to fall on either side of your head he reclines grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt with one hand yanking it in one swift motion over his head. Revealing his face once more, lingering briefly, barrel chest rising and falling, well-defined collarbones connecting at his shoulders causing the muscle to indent slightly.

Everything about him prompted you to feel lost, so lost you didn’t care to notice that his stare crawled over the curve of your body. Meeting his gaze, you flashed him a ‘come hither' stare; a smile spread across his face. Working his way to your lips he caressed reverently up your body, placing feather soft kisses along your abdomen.

Settling his body flush against yours, bearing his weight on his forearms he cupped your jaw in his palm, smoothing the pad of his thumb across it whispering hotly in your ear, “You are so beautiful; I can hardly stand it.” The gravely husky tone coming from him dripped with want and arousal, causing your back to arch seeking desperately to be closer to him.

Responding to his utterance you grasp his shoulders bringing him down catching his mouth in a fiery kiss ending by gently tugging his bottom lip with your teeth. Breathing against his mouth, “If you think I am so beautiful, show me.” Furthering his understanding that this is what you wanted he intently stared deep into your eyes.

No words needed to be expressed, the cast of desire in your eyes spoke volumes; Dean seemed like a man who took what he wanted, strong willed and stubborn with a stark confidence. But at this moment, softness overtook him leaving a gentle lover, a lover you never expected, hidden deep under the layers of his tough exterior.

Clothing had never felt more restricting or stifling than it did at that moment, swiftly he unfastened the button of your jeans tugging the heavy denim down your legs. Landing on the sand with a subtle thump the remainder of your clothes fell in a pile, the thought of sand creeping into the crevices an afterthought.

Aching arousal settled between your thighs, slicking your pussy in preparation for him because…well… you most certainly _needed_ it. As Dean shoved his pants and briefs down his cock sprung out, revealing how impressive it was. The animalistic side of you cried with joy while your more practical side nervously trembled with an ‘ _oh shit_.’

The length of his member was average, but it was the girth, wide and rigid, that invoked turmoil in your chest churning with panic and delight. Falling back into position his hips cradled between your legs, giving a swift kiss he placed his forehead against yours. Grabbing the base of the shaft, he lined himself with your entrance.

In anticipation of the inevitable pain, your body tensed involuntarily causing Dean to pause hovering at your opening. Concern flooded his features, “Are you ok?” eyes overcome with worry, “You want this right…?” licking his lips nervously he continued, “I am not forcing you into anything you don’t want…right?”

Frantically shaking your head, you stumbled, “No!” panic flashed in his eyes causing you to quickly explain further, “I mean, no you aren't forcing me. I want this; I want you…it's just…it's been a while." Averting your gaze almost embarrassed you hear him sigh with relief.

“Sweet Pea, why didn’t you tell me earlier? I just assumed…” he implied; slightly feeling put off you sharply ask, “You assumed what?” Motioning to you he explained, “I assumed because, well, look at you! You are gorgeous, aren’t the guys crawling all over you?”

Light-heartedly laughing, "I donnow, I never pay much attention to that sort of thing. My attention is always elsewhere.” Contritely giving him a sideways glance you trace figure eights underneath his collarbone, the vibrating thunder of his heart soothing you. Carefully encouraging you to look at him once more he assured you, “I will be gentle, I promise.”

Breathing in slowly you nod, closing your eyes attempting to relax your body, instead of feeling the tip of his cock like you anticipated he cups your sex. Those skilled hands stroking your clit while the other massaged your sensitive breast tenderly guiding your body into relaxation.

Inserting one finger first, slipping it in and out easily assisted by your wetness, swirling and rubbing your walls. Slowly and considerately he adds a second finger taking it slow attempting to keep the initial discomfort at bay. Falling further your mind that always wandered powers down allowing you to enjoy the moment, appreciating it for all that it is.

Humming in pleasure, he pulls out reinserting his fingers palm up, curling them stroking your sweet spot. Pressing your head further back your mouth falls open exhaling a satisfied ‘oh!’ Bringing a third finger to your entrance he prepares you kissing passionately giving wordless reassurance.

Gliding in at a maddeningly slow pace his third finger triggers your lungs to drag in a shaky gasp, the burning stretch wasn't unbearable, but it was there. Ultimately, he moved timidly checking if you were ok and comfortable. The care that came with his actions sent your feelings to places they had not wandered in ages, emotions of love, and trust. Removing his fingers the sedated calm of your body suggesting you were ready.

Resting his arm above your head cradling the nape of your neck tenderly he distributed his weight, gripping the base of his cock once more. Bumping his nose against yours, nuzzling lightly giving further comfort he murmured, “Are you ready?” Winding your arms under his arms grasping his shoulders embracing him further in confirmation, “Yea.” You rasped quietly.

Ever so slowly he eased the tip of his cock in, pausing giving your body time to adjust, inching forward he soothed you with encouragements in your ear. Holding you close he pressed further stopping when the action was met with resistance, around you the world washed away leaving only the heat of his body burying itself deep within you.

Finally reaching the hilt, he stilled himself once more nestling his head into the crook of your neck groaning, “ _Oh my god_ , you are so _tight_.” Shifting your hips, you spur him on inviting him to move; drawing all the way out to the tip of his cock before easing into you once more. Breathy moans escape responding to the twinge of pain that quickly gives way to pleasure.

His thrusts quicken setting a restrained pace, each movement continuing to be mindful of you and your needs. Further unwinding you begin angling your hips up meeting his thrusts. These actions drag groans and grunts of enjoyment from his usual composed demeanor. Every ridge inside of you was attentively responding to him, fluttering at the drag and draw of his thick cock.

Panting and urging forward, wrapping his arms around your shoulders pulling you into an intimate embrace. Exposing your throat, you give yourself to him, the thrusting of his hips racking your body with ecstasy. There was not one part of his physic that you didn’t want to explore, hands wandering reveling in every taught muscle.

Burying himself to the hilt, he shifts back into a kneeling position once more bringing you with him. Settling you on his lap, he places both his hands splayed wide across your ass to support you as the grinding motion he begins causes cries to fall from your lips. The new angle stimulating every sweet spot imaginable.

Bliss stirred wildly generating whimpers from you that rapidly became ecstatic cries; when it came to love making you weren't the vocal type, but somehow Dean knew exactly what you needed, what you _desired_. Stepping into the gradual hike of your orgasm you plead for him to move faster.

Sobbing into his neck, “ _Please_ …please…I’m almost…” Dean speeds up responding to your pleas, sinking deeper with each advancement. Touching the back of your neck he brings you face to face with him, catching your mouth with a searing kiss. Heaven, his mouth was heaven, and with that kiss, your building orgasm tipped forcing a satisfied cry from you.

The spasm that radiated alongside your orgasm stimulated him to his breaking point, thrusting hard one last time he finishes with a guttural moan. Warmth filled you up, overflowing and trickling from within you, wetly coating his cock. Relaxing you both back down on the bags he arranges himself enveloping you in his arms.

Snuggling into his chest, you feel him place a chaste kiss on top of your head, "Thank you…" his lips murmured into your hair. Sighing happily tucking yourself closer to him you ask, "For what?" Silence follows, his breathing slows into the recognizable pattern of sleep. Closing your own eyes, you contemplate, ‘I guess I will find out later.’


	8. Two Arrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day my loves! My gift to you is yet another chapter but...here comes the angst! I am so sorry....or am I? :P

Darkness, it _always_ begins with the darkness followed by the whooshing sound of a heart wildly pounding. Awareness creeps forth as you distinguish the distressed gasps, _running_ , you are running…? Why are you running? Hysterical sobs choke out through the darkness faintly, ‘No! Help! Someone! Anyone help me! Get away! No! No! NO!’

Swirling misty darkness gradually lifts revealing night casting shades of deep blue across the desert. The scene further becoming familiar as your conscious slips into the panicked young form that you once observed. This was you, you were running, sobbing, calling for help, preparing for…. whatever will happen next. 

Strangulated sounds bellow over your shoulder, chasing you, coming for you…vicious snarls that are undistinguishable a disgusting mix of shrieking, howling and yelping. Whatever this evil wicked creature was, it wasn’t of this soil. The stench of rotting flesh filled your nostrils, as if this _thing_ was born from the red-hot glow of Hell.

Navigating the landscape, it stalked after you, it’s weight powerfully striking the ground shaking the earth so hard you were convinced the cliffs would crumble. The stomach-churning sound of its limbs cracking as it accelerated the pace. Closing in, the creature decided the game was over, it was done toying with you and was prepared to take you as its prize.

Tears mixed with sweat dripped down your body as you frantically gave survival your best shot, it felt like you had been running for hours, the will you once had fading fast. Detecting the vast black shape of the cliff ahead of you tears overflow in dismay, you have nowhere to run, it had cornered you.

The beast nipping at your heals was a skilled hunter, this was not its first hunt and you were obviously not its first kill. Willing yourself to be brave you glance over your shoulder, immediately hating yourself for doing so. What you saw was nothing like you had ever seen, its grotesque nature catching you off guard, then like every other night you trip…

* * *

 

Jerking slightly your body reacts to the nightmare, recoiling due to the familiar feeling of hitting the ground. Eyes snapping open the survival mode that drove you in your dream still active, instinctively you analyze your surroundings. Deep blue darkness, the desert…fear strikes before realizing that you amongst the shelter of your heaven.

Suddenly you detect the weight of someone pressed against your bare back, reacting to the unfamiliar body you attempt to squirm away only for their arm coil tighter around you.

Consciousness gradually washes over your confused state, and bit by bit you realize that it is Dean, his muscular frame surrounding you, his knee tucked between your legs.

Laying on his side, resting his head on his bent arm he slept deeply, slow breaths tickling the back of your neck. Stirring slightly, he mumbled indistinctly draping himself further around you closing any gaps between your bodies. Lovingly burying his face into the crook of your shoulder, he inhales quietly then lets out a contented sigh.

Usually falling back asleep after one of your reoccurring night terrors was out of the question but Dean’s warmth and dreamy sleep talking chases away the gloom. Feeling a relaxed comfort that you haven’t in a long time you begin to drift off once again dreamless sleep engulfing you, gifting you the first good sleep you have had in years.

A light stroking between your shoulder blades roused you from the glorious sleep that you had been enjoying. Struggling to open your eyes to the bright morning light you acquiesce allowing the heaviness of your lids to drop. The brushing continues in the exact spot a pleasing tingle spreads like wildfire producing a shiver from your body.

Giggling you dreamily whisper, “It’s not often that I get a man ticklin’ my back in the mornin’.” Halting his movements Dean kissed tenderly behind your ear murmuring, “Sorry Sweet Pea, I didn’t mean to wake you…” Running his fingers over your shoulder and down your arm he continued, “I just noticed this scar on your back and I was wonderin…”

Responding as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water all over your naked frame your eyes snap open, quickly bolting away. Before Dean can object the sleeping bag that covered both your bodies is wrapped around your naked figure both your hands gripping tightly in front. Guessing from the look on Dean’s face you assumed your eyes were as startled and frightend as a wild horse.

Passively holding his hands in an attempt to show he meant no harm he spoke calmly and slowly, “Hey…hey…it’s alright I didn’t mean to startle you…if you don’t wanna’ talk about it that’s ok.” Letting the weight of the sleeping bags material sag over your shoulders you sigh defeated, “No…It’s fine…Its just…” Hesitating you bite at your thumbs cuticle, “No one except my aunt and father has seen it…”

Resting off center between the curvature of your shoulder blades the rough scar was prominently carved into your flesh. Two jagged arrows pointed towards each other separated by a small circle. The incisions had been done so crudely and in haste that the scars became uneven keloids giving the impression that parts of the symbol faded in and out.

The forced modification that was inflicted upon your body had always been a source of embarrassment for you. Hiding from the other girls in the locker room you resorted to changing in the filthy bathroom stalls, losing your virginity in a pitch-black room and every lover whose heart you broke because when they woke the next morning to find you gone.

Many years had been filled with anger, outrage over what had been executed against your will. Scars were permanent, it was a harsh reality that you had learned over time. However, in the end the mutilation became a part of you, an added reminder of what had been. Instead of fixating on it like you once had you began to look through it as if it were no longer there.

Letting the sleeping bag drop to the ground you stood naked before Dean, slowly sinking to the ground by him crossing your legs. Avoiding eye contact you arranged your body close to him but turned away, your line of vision looking toward the area where all the anger you felt was taken out on tin cans with gunpowder.

Gripping the back of your neck with both your hands massaging the muscles of your shoulders urging yourself to relax. Swaying to the side you hung your head, deep in thought struggling to answer the question that you foolishly agreed to answer. Withdrawing the courage that had fallen silent within you straightened your spine aligning the scar in question with Dean’s contemplative stare.

Shutting out all other distractions you steadily close your eyes disclosing what had happened, “In some cultures it is believed that if you mark an infant right after they are born it will help protect them throughout their life. When I was only a few days old my mother…well she…” The words became dry sticking to the inside of your throat, grimacing at the bad memory you struggled to continue.

Detecting your increasing unease Dean scooted closer opening his bare legs pulling you between them. Running his hands up and down your upper arms he skimmed his lips sympathetically along the nape of your neck. Holding you close providing you comfort, “It’s ok Sweet Pea, I’m here for you…”

Finding renewed confidence, you carry on quietly, “During the hospital stay after my birth they assumed she swiped a scalpel or blade from one of the medical supply closets and cut this symbol into me…” Stopping briefly you regain your composure, “The nurses heard me screaming in agony, they ran in to find me arranged in blood soaked sheets on the hospital bed. My mother was nowhere to be found; they don’t know how she got out…it was if she vanished into thin air.”

Biting back tears, you fought desperately to hang onto the tough front you created, this was the first time you had ever told anyone what had happened. When you were little your father never gave details about what had transpired that fateful day, you could only assume he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The pain of losing your mother practically broke him but knowing what she did to you was unbearable.

As soon as you were old enough to understand your aunt sat you down wrapping her arms around you, cradling your head and stroking your hair as she sadly explained what had happened. Attempting to give an explanation to your mother’s misguided and foolish actions, actions that you would forever bear the consequences.

Beginning to feel safe your body yields sinking deeper into Deans cradle around you, “The mark is Native American it is a symbol to ward off evil spirits…She believed she was keeping me safe, I always pretended that she did it because she loved me…but she was just insane.”

Kissing your cheek lovingly Dean rested his chin on your shoulder responding empathetically, “I understand, my father did some crazy things… things that changed mine and Sammy’s life forever. We gotta’ just take it one day at a time, yea?” Sighing thankfully, relief washed over you grateful that he didn’t judge you, “Yea, you're right.”

Shifting his upper body so that he could better face you, tucking some hair behind your ear he cocked his head looking intently at you before he added, “Plus, I find scars _incredibly_ sexy…” Taking the hint your powerful side reemerged ushering away the scared child from your past; rotating onto your knees asserting dominance you shove at his chest softly.

Falling back with a surprised ‘oohf’ a wicked grin spreads across his face when the realization of where this is going hits. Crawling up his body you straddle his hips planting both hands firmly on his chest pressing your breasts together with your upper arms. Giving him a good view of your cleavage, awakening his cock that twitches between your thighs.

Hungrily his hands slide up the curve of your thighs landing on your hips, subtly trying to shift you down onto him. Holding your ground refusing to budge, you lean all the way forward fervently kissing him, slipping your tongue between his lips. Tasting the inside of his mouth, loving the way his tongue intertwines with yours, as if you were made for each other.

Moving down you nip at his jaw bringing forth a hiss that vibrates against your lips, his hands journey to the center of your upper back yet again. But this time you don’t shy away, consenting to the sensation of his fingers dancing across the arrows. ‘No more mystery’ you think, ‘He has been honest with me, I know who he is. He deserves to know who I am.’

Secrets couldn’t be kept forever; you knew that and at this point you were tired of them, worn down by the years of keeping and hearing them. The future seemed a little brighter than it once had, maybe you could find happiness, no more nightmares. Except, what you didn’t know was that Dean Winchester the man you have grown to trust was concealing deep secrets of his own.

 

 


	9. That Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter because I decided to break the chapter I was writing in two. Gotta' leave you guys in suspense right? You know you love me... :)

Over the next few weeks the relationship with Dean became closer; tentatively you began to become more unguarded, allowing him into what you could call your inner circle. It was liberating to no longer be ashamed of who you are, unfortunately, it is when you are happy that the feeling comes. A nagging instinct that creeps from the recesses of your mind snaking around the happiness you feel wrapping tight and strangling it.

Hushed voices spoke, prodding mockingly, reminding you of the inevitable day Sam and Dean loaded up Baby, returned their room key leaving forever. Desperately, you ached for assurance, an understanding of what was going to happen. But every time Dean waltzed into the front office casually slapping down another card and asking for another week the topic never arose.

There was so much mystery about Dean, the idea of knowing so little about the man you gave yourself to, that you shared intimate encounters with, left you feeling both terrified and exhilarated. At the same time your sane self-screamed to know who he was, where he was from and more about him. Admittedly there was a lot of your life that you had yet to divulge and he respected that, never digging too deep when he sensed that it was a delicate subject.

What you _did_ know about Dean was that he and Sam were brothers (of course) that they were road tripping together, that Dean was an absolute "foodie," adored old cars and religiously listened to what Sam categorized as “hair metal." What drew you to Dean though was his tender heart that always unfurled whenever he was with you.

The affectionate touches and amorous kisses generated skeptical stares from Sam, raising his eyebrow as he peeked at both of you over his laptop. Usually, you weren't the touchy-feely type but feeling Dean so close to you, always wrapping his arm around your waist or planting kisses on your cheek…well…only for him you would make an exception.

However, the idea of falling in love frightened you more than you would like to admit. Being detached and never building close relationships with others was your defense mechanism, a tactic that kept you safe. After extensive contemplation, you surmised that you couldn’t keep your heart locked up forever. The traumas of the past needed to fade becoming an unpleasant memory; as wicked as the world was, not every person was untrustworthy.

This belief was instilled by your father, the lessons learned from him you always treasured. When your mother strangely disappeared, your father had every reason never to trust again as he bore the weight of heartbreak. Even after everything he always stood by the belief that everyone had a little bit of good in them.

Regardless, he also stressed how important it was to protect yourself and do what was necessary for survival. The last night your father was alive you remember secretly peeking around the corner into the family room where he was cleaning his handgun. Settled on the couch with the coffee table scooted close enough to touch his knees he worked whistling quietly. 

Meticulously his steady hands cleaned each individual piece before setting them back down on the coffee table, glancing up from his work he noticed you watching curiously. A warm grin spread across his face, smiling so wide the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Hello Sweet Pea, ya curious about what I’m doin’ darlin’?”

Nodding shyly, you shuffle towards the couch; once cuddled in next to him he begins explaining the different parts of the gun and the proper way to clean and care for it. Taking precaution, he returns each part to the case, locking it firmly before wrapping his long arms around your small shoulders.

Giving you a loving squeeze he decided, "When you are old enough Sweet Pea, Daddy will show ya how to shoot a gun. Would ya like that?" Throwing your arms around his neck, you respond eagerly, "Yes daddeee! I would love that!" Returning the hug, he softly exclaims, “That’s my girl!”

Later that night, after being tucked in tight and falling fast asleep the abrasive sound of raised but muffled voices yank you out of a deep sleep. Slipping from your bed, you press your back against the family room wall peeping around the corner into the kitchen.

The commotion came from an altercation between your aunt and your father, it was not often that your father lost his temper, but it was evident by the sharpness of his voice he was furious. Folding his arms stubbornly across his chest he thundered, “Damnit Paula! I have every god damn right to protect myself! Not just myself but you and Sweet Pea too!”

Your aunt’s chunky turquoise bangles slid down her forearm with a solid clunking sound as she threw her finger to her lips trying to shush your father, “David! Keep it down or yer gonna' wake, Sweet Pea!" In one fluid motion, she places her hands on her hips throwing your father an icy stare, the ruthless glare that meant she was all business.

Staring each other down with an equal intensity she, at last, broke the silence “I just don’t feel comfortable with ya havin’ guns in the house. Especially with Sweet Pea runnin’ around, she looks up to you David! Think how yer actions are affecting her.” Instantly the square of your father’s jaw tensed at the mention of how watchful you were of his actions; there was no denying that you were his shadow.

“Don’t use Sweet Pea to guilt me Paula…” he growled through clenched teeth, “If anything I wanna’ teach my daughter how to protect herself…now more than ever because that…that… _thing_ is still out there!” Exasperatedly, your aunt threw her arms in the air the anger she tried to contain boiling to the surface. 

Throwing her concern about waking you aside she shouted at your father, "There aint' no beast, David! There aint' no _thing_ out there tryin’ to kill people! It’s just an urban legend invented to scare people into behavin'! Stop obsessing over it; you are drivin' yerself mad!"

Evidently, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back, hastily your father pushing past your aunt angrily snatching his coat that hung on the back of the kitchen chair. Realizing her mistake your aunt anxiously followed after him fear creeping up in her voice, “David! Where are you goin?!”

Powerful steps swiftly headed toward the spot where you stood motionlessly eavesdropping, fearing being caught you dart back to your room. Closing the door, you press your ear to the cool wood straining to listen further. The cries of your aunt became shriller as her panic set in, “Please don’t do anythin’ stupid David! Please! Think of Sweet Pea, think of your little girl!”

The sound of his keys jingled as he grabbed them off their hook, keeping his furious pace he stomped to the door. Responding to his sister’s pleas, he affirmed harshly, “That’s what I am doin’! Providing a safe world for my child and as long as that monster is alive then it ain’t safe! Not for her, not for anybody! I am goin’ out to kill the bastard and send it back to hell where it belongs!”

Sobs carried down the hall as your aunt continued to beg, “NO! David please! Don't go!" The only response she got was the angry slam of the door. After that, he was gone, and you never saw him again...what made the pain of losing him worse was that in the last fleeting moments that he was in your life your father had shown a side to himself that you never wanted to see.

Closure was never a pleasantry extended to you, never properly saying goodbye tore you apart. Even at his funeral, the casket was closed spurring more uncertainty about his fate. For the longest time no one told you why you couldn't properly say goodbye, it wasn't until you were in your teens that you found out the horrifying truth. The body that was discovered was so badly mutilated that it was difficult for investigators to identify that its as in fact your father.

Since that ominous night, your life has been filled with regret, longing for the past to change. If you had known what you do now, there would have been no hesitation you wouldn't think twice about dashing after him. Clinging to his legs pleading and crying, begging for him to stay just as your aunt had done.


	10. What Was There to Fear?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy the new chapter loves! Will Sweet Pea's past continue to unfold? I am seriously having a blast writing this work! I love hearing from you and appreciate the comments and kudos thus far! You are all too kind! Receiving feedback is a major motivator for me, thank you again! :)

The weeks passed by, marching onward at a steady pace dragging the intense heat of August with it. As much as you loved the warm weather, the idea of summer coming to an end was a welcoming thought. Fall had always been one of your favorites because not only did the heat subside but so did the flow of tourists.

During this time the amount of visitors slowed and consequently so did the number of hotel guests. Activity in the town would take on a more hushed vibe, and a few business owners would close shop for the winter; spending a few months visiting family or going on trips.

Having a decrease in guests left more time for you to spend with the Winchesters and quite frankly you had absolutely no complaints about that. A few days a week Dean would come to your apartment, and you would spend the evening drinking beers chatting about this and that.

Sometimes the thought of a cold refreshing beer would even draw Sam out from the dark cave of their motel room where he spent hours pouring over his laptop. This particular day Sam decided that he would grace you and Dean with his presence albeit his laptop still tagged along with him.

Rustling around in the fridge you grab three beers for you and the boys, the glass bottles clank together as you collect them between the fingers of your left hand. There was something special about drinking beer from a glass bottle you thought to yourself while straightening up and stepping around to the front of the fridge swiftly bumping it closed with the curve of your hip.

Giving a loud whistle Dean ogles you and sings, “and her hips don’t lie!” Strolling towards the kitchen table where both men sat you roll your eyes playfully quipping, “Ya know Dean, I think you assume you are way funnier than you really are.” Sam who was clickity clacking away on his laptop without looking up conceded with your comment, “I agree with Sweet Pea Dean…You’re not exactly a comedian.”

Sitting sidesaddle in the retro kitchen chair, his arm slung over the back Dean cocks his head like a curious puppy puffing air between his lips, "Pfffftttt, whatever! I don’t _think_ I am hilarious; I _know_ I am hilarious!” After setting the beers on the table, you flip the kitchen chair around straddling the seat and resting your arms on the back, settling directly across from Sam.

Taking a swig from your beer, you smirk pointing at Dean accusingly, "See what I'm talkin’ about!?” Shifting in his seat Dean chuckles dragging the beer towards himself and holding it lackadaisically in his hand. Before pressing the glass bottle to his lips, he winks at you, “But you know you love it…”

Balancing your elbow on the chair back and placing your chin in your palm you flash a flirtatious smile, “Whatever helps you sleep at night Mr. Winchester…” smirking at him you wink back. Observing the way he wags his eyebrows you know what comment is coming next, “Sweet Pea, you know what helps me sleep at night, that curvy body of yours pressed against mine.”

Clearing his throat Sam reminded Dean of his presence, raising his eyebrows with annoyance he exclaimed, “Dude. _Really_? I am right here. Please spare me the explicit details.” Waving his hand dismissively Dean retaliated sharply, “Yea, yea. I know you are just jealous that I snagged such a fine woman like Sweet Pea.”

Furthering his attack Dean stretched over slapping the back of Sam’s laptop screen folding it down on his busy fingers, proceeding to demand, “and will you put that thing away Sammy? You have been so consumed by it that I am forgetting what you look like.” Righting the screen into an upright position Sam throws him the most intense bitch faces you have ever seen.

Shaking your head at their childlike brotherly bickering, you proceed to scoot the third beer in Sam's direction. The subtle sound of the glass bottle scratching the table surface draws his attention to you. Offering a warm smile and nodding toward the laptop you ask, “Would ya be willin’ to close the laptop Sam? I would love to just chat with ya for once.”

Being overpowered by your softhearted puppy dog like stare Sam caves in, closing the laptop and picking up the already opened beer. Gawking in astonishment Dean chortled jokingly, “Whoa! You gotta’ teach me how to do that Sweet Pea. Sammy totally crumpled like a house of cards in a hurricane!" Between sips of his drink, Sam muttered, "Shut up Dean, I was done anyway, I wanted to ask her about the town's history…”

Scooting the chair closer with a scraping squeak and setting your folded arms on the table you incline towards Sam showing he has your full attention. Aiming to find out what he is curious about you ask the first question, “So…Whaddya wanna’ know? I’ve lived here my whole life so if you have a question I probably have an answer.”

Brushing his light brown hair from his eyes, Sam awkwardly scratches at the back of his head, eyes falling on the corner of the table by your elbow. Inwardly giggling you gather that between the two brothers Dean did most of the talking. Peering up at you he hesitates, “Well, uhm… I was curious about the town’s urban legends…You know…ghost stories…stuff like that.”

Sam’s question seemed a little odd, most times when tourists asked about the town they wanted to know who founded it or more about the movie history. Very rarely did people inquire about ghosts unless they were those hokey ghost hunters that dropped in occasionally; wandering around your lobby waving their EMF detectors around like a bunch of dopes.

Tapping your pointer finger on your chin, you thoughtfully consider his question, "Hmmm, let's see… There is the Moqui Cave ghost or the old Victorian on Main Street is supposedly haunted by a little girl…Oh! Southern Utah University is apparently haunted by a girl who was murdered. They found her body draped over a slab of sandstone about due east of Cedar City. Per legend, the blood-covered rock was used to build part of the school, and so consequently she is forever bound to the building."

Pausing for a moment you contemplate the legend, upon realizing its location you correct yourself, “Actually, that probably doesn’t count, SUU is an hour and a half from here.” Shrugging lightly, you admit, “That’s pretty much it, we really don’t have much goin’ on around here…we are known more for our red rock than our ghost stories.”

Glancing at his brother, it's glaringly obvious that Sam is trying to signal Dean to say something. Busying himself, Dean drinks his beer acting oblivious gazing about the room as if silently responding, ‘Nuh-uh, no way Sammy this is your thing. I ain’t sayin’ nothing.’

Realizing he is going at it alone, Sam pressed further, “Er…that’s great. How about, I donnow, _Native American_ legends…” Knitting your brows together instantly you became wary of the conversation, shifting uncomfortably in your chair you slowly echo his words, “Native…American…Legends…? That seems oddly specific…not sure how we went from town history to this?”

Detecting the sudden shift in your demeanor Dean cut in, “You see Sweet Pea, Sammy here is writing a book about Native American culture. We have been traveling around the U.S. doing research.” Clapping Sam on the shoulder shaking him vigorously Dean explains, “That is why he has been so engulfed in his research, right Sam?”

Coughing awkwardly Sam nods affirming Deans claim, “…uh yea! Native American culture is my life. Yea. Totally love it…” The apprehension that was building deep in your chest subsided at their explanation, but the nagging feeling that something was amiss itched in the back of your mind. Relaxing slightly, you rub one hand on the back of your neck attempting to calm yourself down.

“Oh. Ok… Sorry to get so edgy about it. People around here are weird about the Native American lore, talking about it makes em’ skittish.” Trying to lighten the mood you chuckle, “…Obviously, I am no better, though.” Willing the taut sensation to leave your body you feel a sudden confusion as to why this topic brings such unease.

Thinking back, you couldn’t exactly remember _who_ you learned the folklore from; it was as if you were born with the knowledge, rooted deep in your memory. Aunt Paula new all about Native American culture and history, but legends and folklore were never brought up. The only time you could recall her talking about legends was the night your father went missing but even then, who was to say it was specifically Native American lore?

Dean’s voice jerked you from your thoughts that you ran through like a maze, so close to becoming lost, “Sweet Pea? You ok?” The sensation of his warm palm touching your bare wrist compelled your mind to come back to the present. Blinking a few times your vision cleared bringing the brother’s worried faces and watchful eyes into view.

Trying to assure them that Sam’s question wasn’t getting under your skin you uncomfortably stumble over your words, “Yea, I’m fine…just…my mind wandered, sorry.” As you shake the last drops of darkness out of your thoughts, your body inadvertently shudders triggering you to pull away from Dean’s touch.

Drawing away appeared only to concern him further, prompting his dark green eyes to examine your own intently. "You sure?" he soothingly inquired, the sound of his voice low-pitched and soft. Pushing down the lump in your throat you muster a smile, "Yup, I'm peachy keen!” Studying the creases on your palms, you began divulging what you knew. 

“As Sam may know, Native American culture has mass amounts of stories, urban legends, folklore and so on…right, Sam?" Sam's eyes glaze over before glancing at Dean before he nods hesitantly. Continuing you explain, “The more prominent one in our area is that of the Navajo tribe, they believe in a creature called _Yee Naaldlooshii_ or more commonly known as a _Skinwalker_.”

Anxiously you peer at the brothers expecting to see judgmental stares, but instead, both of them were drawn forward hanging on every word you say. Running the tips of your fingers through your hair you let out an uncertain laugh, “How can I explain this without the both of ya thinkin’ I’m a total nutter?” 

Quickly Sam interjects, “No! No. Don’t think that. We are very open minded, please, go on.” Motioning with his hands indicating he wanted you to continue, receiving a reassuring nod for Dean you finally let go. What was there to fear? Nothing. Being so anxious to talk about this was silly, it was just some story told around the campfire to scare others.

"Skinwalkers are believed to be the most powerful kind of medicine man or witch; they have the ability to choose their power by taking the form of any animal. This process is begun by them wearing the flesh of the animal they desire to become…but the characteristics they acquire are like no normal creature, they are heightened. These _beasts_ can run faster, jump higher and ultimately kill easily.”

Stopping abruptly, you are caught off guard by the wording that fell from your lips as you described the Skinwalkers. That beast...The echo of your breathing buzzed in your ears it almost sounded ragged and panicked provoked by your realization. Once more, your thoughts raced so fast you couldn’t manage to form them into sentences, ‘How do I know all this information? I don’t understand, what in the hell is happening to me?’

Deep in thought Dean swirls the bottle sloshing the beer in circles, after a moment he looks up asking, “So, like Nightshifters?” The question brought a focal point for you to hone in on and come back to, pushing away the frenzied thoughts you grimly frown gazing at them before finally uttering, “No. Skinwalkers are much, _much_ worse…”

Giving them a pointed stare you feel the beginnings of unreasonable agitation occur, “Nightshifters are _child’s play_ compared to Skinwalkers, they are pure evil. Everything that is wrong with the world is embodied into one being…they have no conscience. They kill because they can, and they do it with or without reason. It is believed they slaughter people who find out _what_ they are but they don’t stop there. No, they kill those whom they are suspicious of…so, they kill _everybody.”_

The surprise you feel runs alongside the unbridled fury; you were never passionate about this stuff, why were you suddenly now? As if being unable to control yourself you spat, “Why do you think people are terrified to speak of it? Refuse to tell people outside of their tribe the tales of what it can do? Clearly, they know somethin' we don't, and I think it will bring about bad things if you continue to pry about it!"

Pushing away from your seat you stand, “Now, if ya don't mind boys it's getting late, and I have a whole motel to run in the mornin’ while my aunt is gone.” Haphazardly you collect the empty bottles throwing them away and silently leading the brothers to the front door.

After waving goodbye to Sam who hurries down the stairs, you are left alone with Dean whose arms are around you instantly. Hugging you close and kissing the top of your head over and over murmuring, "I'm sorry about prying, we meant no harm." The rage from earlier that crashed within you calmed at his touch, thankful he wasn’t hurt by your harshness.

Nestling yourself closer and turning to rest your head on his chest you revel in the softness of his worn shirt, dismally sighing, “No it’s fine. It ain’t that…I’m just really tired is all…sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean to lose my temper." Cradling the back of your head in his hands, he kisses the top once more while murmuring, “It’s ok. I will give you some space goodnight Sweet Pea.”  

Shutting the door and securing the locks you move down the narrow dark hall towards your room. Feeling completely drained by the conversation and memories the thought of your bed seems more inviting than usual. Each step causes the aged floor beneath your feet to creak singing in harmony with the sound of your fingers trailing down the wood paneling on the walls.

Passing the familiar door of your aunt's room, you stop, noticing something unusual, dim light spills from underneath her door casting a faint line across your bare toes. Suddenly on edge, you rack your brain trying to remember if your aunt had come home from her most recent "painting journey."

After calculating the time to her destination and how long she planned on camping there you mutter to yourself, “No, she can’t be back already she left at the crack of dawn this mornin’…” Noting that your firearm is tucked securely in the waist of your jeans, resting your hand on top of it you prepare to come face to face with an intruder.

Turning the knob at a slow pace, you slip between the narrow crack you created for yourself between the door and its frame. Instantly scanning the room, you literally want to slap your forehead…no one was there. In her rush to leave the house, your silly aunt accidentally left the light on in her closet.

Chastising yourself silently you stride across the room, reaching towards the ceiling of the closet you grasp for the short pull string to click the light off. In the process, your hand bumps a precariously arranged heap of dilapidated boxes, the sudden shift in weight at the base of the stack causes clutter to rain down upon your head.

Agitatedly you groan out loud, “Aunt Paula! Why are you such a hoarder?” Kneeling down you begin to clean up the new pile of clutter, while rifling through papers, returning them to their home you stumble across an old metal case. Looking it over and becoming perplexed, ‘Aunt Paula _hates_ guns, why would she have an ammunition case?’

Tracing your fingers along the edge of the chilled metal you examine your new discovery. It appeared to be a vintage military case, dented and colored a dark “army green” with the letters A.E.P stamped in the center just below the handle. Investigating further you notice that the latch broke in the fall causing the lid to come ajar. Sitting it upright the lid falls back due to gravity revealing the contents inside.

Reaching in and sifting through the papers you remove them in an untidy pile, focusing on the documents you begin looking them over. Instantly, a tremor tears through your body forcing you to sit back on your heels as if someone had punched you in the chest. The papers slip from your hands fluttering to the floor blending in with the surrounding disarray. Complete and utter disbelief surged through you… _your aunt had a lot of explaining to do_.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GASP!!! What was in the case?! Stay tuned to find out. :) ;) 
> 
> Factoids: 
> 
> The ghost story at SUU in Cedar City is actually a real urban legend. :)
> 
> In Utah Skinwalker legends are a real thing and it is practically impossible to get the people who live on the reservations to talk about it. Utah also has a ranch called "Skinwalker Ranch" it is claimed that there have been Skinwalker sightings there. Even people who don't live on the reservations but in the surrounding areas have said they have had encounters with what they would assume are Skinwalkers. *Que shudder*


	11. Who Are You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you hanging my lovelies! Hopefully this chapter is worth the wait! It seems like things in Sweet Pea's life are changing and at this point is it for the better? I guess I will let you decide, oh my. So...let's see what was in that darn case!

The weight of the various disheveled papers came as a surprise until you looked down at what you had retrieved. Instantly your hands began to tremble, heart thundering in your ears dropping everything on the floor, staring in disbelief at what was before you.

Your father’s journal; it couldn’t be possible, your aunt had said…no. The memory was clear, the day you were convinced that this journal was nothing but a figment of your imagination. Replaying it over and over in your mind you remembered every precise detail; your age, the date, the time all of it was there.

* * *

It was after school, sprinting home the weight of your backpack bouncing off your back. Reaching the motel you ran upstairs to the apartment, dumping your bag by the door, toeing off your shoes in a flurry. Leaving them to occupy the exact spot that you promised your aunt hundreds of times before that you wouldn’t leave things.

At that current moment in time, your 10-year-old mind categorized the past promises you made to your aunt completely irrelevant because today at school you learned about _journaling_. A memory of your father was sparked when your teacher held up examples of journals from her family, ‘Dad had a journal!’ you thought enthusiastically.

Until that moment in time you had completely forgotten about the jounral but once the realization hit memories came flooding back. You could recall seeing him on many occasions scribbling across it’s lined pages, the gold band of his wedding ring flicking in the family rooms lamp light as his left hand-scrawled sloppily.

Skidding around the corner, you lunged into the office tearing through boxes, drawers, and shelves frantically searching for the journal you could remember so distinctly. Insurmountable joy enveloped you as you thought about having a physical, tangible, piece of your father and his thoughts that you could hold in your hands.

Completely lost in your quest you failed to hear your aunt come home, tripping over your forgotten items and agitatedly crying out, “Sweet Pea! I thought I was clear! This ain’t where yer backpack belongs!” Just as you were about to begin rummaging through the built-in cabinets underneath the bookshelves the sound of your aunt sternly clearing her throat halted your actions.

Holding perfectly still you hesitated, wishing you could just disappear the moment you realized how much of a mess was created during your frantic search. “What exactly are ya doin’ there Sweet Pea…?” your aunt pressed, amusement filling her voice.

Sitting back from your kneeling position in front of the cupboard you shifted uncomfortably struggling to meet her intense gaze. Tucking your hair behind your ears awkwardly you fumble, “Well, uhm…w-we learned about journals today at school Aunt Paula! So I was tryin’ ta’ find daddy’s journal…I’m sorry I made a mess…I was jus’ _so_ excited…”

Before you could babble further your aunt interjected softly, “Oh.” The corners of her mouth instantly pointing down, frowning sorrowfully she continued, “I’m sorry Sweet Pea, yer daddy didn’ have a journal. Maybe yer thinkin’ of me, I write in my journal all the time.” Disappointment instantly spread across your features, brows furrowing as you refused to believe her words. You remembered a journal; it was around here somewhere you _knew_ it…you just weren’t looking hard enough.

Roughly you shake your head ‘no,' the knot in your throat becoming tighter as you desperately fought back the tears that stung your eyes. Biting your bottom lip attempting to hide the wobble in your voice, “No. You’re wrong. I know it’s around here somewhere. _I KNOW IT_.”

Hot tears started to slide down your cheeks anger rising in your voice, “I have seen him write in it! Its cover is black leather with a braided strap that wraps around and knots it shut. An…an…The lines on the pages are dark blue. I know it’s real and I’m gonna’ find it!”

Standing promptly and clenching your fists firmly at your sides you attempt to shoulder past your aunt who stood calmly in the doorway her eyes weary and tired. Standing her ground she blocked your only escape, pushing with more persistance you struggled against her body.

Giving up you succumb to the vast array of emotion, caving under the pressure of everything accepting the lack of control you had over your life. Falling into your aunt’s torso, sobs wracked your body as you clung to her burying your face in her blouse. Warmth enveloped you as she slowly wound her arms around your shuddering shoulders attempting to bring comfort.

The sound of your cries keeping you from hearing the soothing words that she tried to say. Between the snuffles you faintly heard the occasional phrases she murmured against your hair, ‘I am so sorry Sweet Pea…I am so, so sorry darlin'…"

* * *

But there it was, laying directly in front of you, his journal…why had she lied to you? What was in this journal that was so bad that your aunt felt the urge to keep it a secret? Robbing you of the sliver of comfort that this journal could have possibly brought to your grieving soul as a child.

A wave of nausea washed over you, the room tilted and spun causing a cloudy haze to overcome you. The dizziness forced you to sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by photos, note pages, drawings and so much more. It was with these documents that you had evidence that challenged everything you knew about your life.

Covering your face with your hands you feebly block out all visual distractions, fighting to make sense of everything. The lies, the deceit, was there any person in your life that you could trust? It was at the moment that you briefly longed for the boring, monotonous routine that had filled your days.

The feeling of betrayal intertwined with anger as you desperately tried to push away the sickness that gnawed in the pit of your stomach. No matter how much you wanted to go back in time and not discover this evidence, a small portion deep within was grateful that finally, the truth was coming to light.

Eventually uncovering your face, eyes falling on the black leather journal that had fallen directly in front of you. Tentatively reaching down the tips of your fingers lightly brushed along the worn cover, touching so softly as if you believed it would disappear. Fear devoured you as your hands shakily picked up the journal, slowly unwinding the cord that securely held it closed.

Opening it, you began by reading the lone sentence that was printed boldly in the middle of the page, " _Si Vis Pacem Para Bellum_ ” speaking each word thoughtfully out loud. The knowledge you had of Latin was fairly basic, self-taught from the various Latin texts that your father had collected over the years.

Analyzing each word repeating the sentence a few times you were finally able to translate, “ _If you want peace, prepare for war_.” It was no secret that your father was a fairly poetic man, but this phrase left you wondering. Why did he feel this phrase was so important that it needed to be placed on the front page? Serving as a constant reminder each time he opened his journal.

Shrugging it off for the time being you flipped the journal open to a random page part way past the middle, cradling the journal close you drank up his words, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you could practically hear his deep and gruff voice.

_June 30 th, 1979 – Sedona, AZ_

_Today I met a girl; she was selling trinkets at a farmers market, her name is Haseya. When I tried to pronounce her name she giggled and guided me through the vowels Ha-see-ah-yuh. When I saw her I knew that I loved her, it was if our souls were drawn to each other. I have never seen a more beautiful creature in all my life._

The entry pushed out the uncertainty that was stirred from this recent discovery, replacing it with love. Often your father spoke of how beautiful your mother was, but he never mentioned where or how they had met. Curiously you thumbed through the pages glancing at dates but not reading the entries until you found your birth date.

  _Cedar City, UT_

_...my beautiful little girl was born today. Clearly, she was in a rush as we barely made it to the hospital in time. It felt as if the doctor practically caught her in the doorway! I never knew I could love a single small person so instantaneously. From the moment she took her first breath I knew, that just like her mother, she would change my life forever…for the better._

Happy tears filled your eyes as you read your father's words of unconditional love that he had for you. Basking in the happiness that you felt at that moment you eagerly read further.

_I am concerned about Haseya though…ever since our daughter was born she has not spoken and seems distant. Maybe she is trying to process becoming a parent just as I am? Her doctor doesn’t seem worried… I am probably fretting over nothing._

Your heart sank, all your life you had always wondered if your mother actually did love you. Maybe you were reading too much into your father's words, but her actions after your birth screamed that she felt anything but joy upon your arrival. Shoving back the doubt that began to creep up you flipped back to the front of the journal causing a photo to fall from between the pages.

Shakily you grasped the black and white photo, your fingers running over the familiar faces that were in front of you, the younger versions of your dad and aunt. Both of them beamed excitedly in the photo, your dad's familiar warm eyes lit up and your aunt's nose crinkled mid-laugh as if someone behind the camera cracked a joke.

The style of their dress was that of the 1970’s; your aunt’s hair that usually was weaved into a tight braid overflowed abundantly in dark raven strands down to her waist. A flowy peasant top hung low exposing the hollow of her throat and the fringe that adorned her leather vest swayed from the movement of her laughter in the photo.

Parted in the middle your father’s shaggy brown hair flipped out from his clean-shaven young face, tucked into his high waist bell-bottoms was his favorite and y _our_ favorite Led Zeppelin t-shirt. A long necklace with a strange pendant landed in the middle of his chest. Squinting, bringing the photo closer to your face you try to make out what it is but the quality of the old photo is too poor.

In the middle was a man you had never seen before, he was approximately the same height as your father, but his build was much broader than your father’s slender frame. No matter which way you looked at him you couldn't pinpoint exactly who he was, his face was well hidden by the large pair of aviator sunglasses he wore and his shoulder length hair that hung partially in his face.

It seemed that he was around your aunt’s age and clearly they were in a relationship by the way your aunt's arm was wrapped intimately around him. But what really shocked you was what your aunt was holding in her other hand pointing in the air and rested on her hip… _a shotgun_.

For as long as you knew your aunt there was no way she would be caught dead with a firearm in her hands. Investigating further your stare drifted across the two other figures in the photo, your father held an assault rifle and the man in the middle had a large hunting knife strapped to his thigh.

Flipping over the photo you read the words scrawled across the weathered back, "Anna, Paul, and Jack – werewolf kill 1975” Screwing your face up your mind began to race, ‘Anna? Jack? Werewolf? What in the hell is going on? Why would they change their names? You thought werewolves were only legend?‘

Refusing to look at their faces feeling the unease of mistrust you place the photo on the ground face down. Thankfully your finger held the place from which the photo had fallen out hoping that maybe your fathers words could shed some more light on everything that you were uncovering.

_April 23, 1975 – Jefferson, WI_

_FINALLY! We were able to hunt down that damn werewolf that we have been tracking for what felt like forever. Anna was especially excited about this kill because she had poured years into tracking down the monster. Apparently we were dealing with an ancient werewolf, which is practically unheard of._

_Anna discovered that this particular werewolf emigrated from South-Central France to the U.S. by sneaking onto a Colonial ship. She is convinced that he was the_ _Beast of Gévaudan who slaughtered around 80 men, woman and children. What makes all of this truly insane is those murders were from 1764 – 1767!_

_As always Anna amazed me with her shooting skills, the longer I hunt with her the more I understand why our parents only trusted her with the silver bullets. It only took one bullet to bring the bastard down and she achieved a shot through the heart while it was coming at her full bore._

_Thankfully Anna is going to teach me some of her shooting techniques, that sister of mine really does know her way around a gun. Mom and dad expected only the best out of us though, right?_

It was all becoming too much for you; each word that was read only left your mind drowning in a sea of questions. There was no possible way that your aunt Paula and Anna were the same person…This Anna individual did not fit the mild and sensitive woman that practically raised you.

Beginning to feel frantic and more confused you started you flick through the journal's pages at that point unsure if you even _wanted_ to read further. The papers scraped loudly across each other as you reached the back, these entries were close to around the time your father had died.

Most of his writing was nonsense but a sketch that was roughly scribbled triggered sudden terror that instinctively drove you to throw the book across the room. Yanking your knees to your chest, burying your face and trembling uncontrollably, images of the monster that stalked you in your dreams flashed behind your eyes.

The crude drawing was of the exact creature that has plagued your dreams almost all your life, each characteristic that you were well acquainted with burned into your mind forever. Written erratically below it in your father’s familiar handwriting, _Skinwalker_.

The beast your father spoke of, the thing your father went after the night he died…was a _Skinwalker_. It was at that moment that you lost control, the room spun at a sickening pace. A sudden blinding pain seared into back of your head forcing your eyes to roll back into your skull and then...everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and ANOTHER cliff hanger! (Please forgive me) Was Sweet Pea attacked? Can she trust anyone anymore? As always...to be continued... :)


	12. I Accept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger(s), I am offering a peace offering of a chapter today and a smutty chapter tomorrow! ;) Thank you for sticking with me, supporting with kudos and comments! Keep the love coming and I will keep the chapters coming too! :)
> 
> The smutty chapter will be coming tomorrow fo-shizzle! So stay tuned!
> 
> This chapter starts a little graphic (mentions of blood) so hopefully that doesn't bother any of you lovely readers! Still wanted to give a heads up though!

The beginning of your dream started like it always did, running in panic, being hunted and preparing to die. As you settle into the usual discomfort of the dream it takes a sudden turn; a whispering wraps around your mind originating from a dull ache at the base of your skull. Although, the pain is there the sensation of it feels like a minor annoyance seeming as if it is traveling from a distance.

The speaking takes on a feminine tone as a woman calls from far away, speaking so quietly that you don’t understand. Escalating, the murmurs turn into screams, wails, and cries that soon intermingle with the grisly yowling of the demon that nips at your heels. It seems as if the beast and the chanting voice are connected working together, gaining strength to claw their way into your mind.

Instructions from the unknown voice echo, reverberating and slamming around inside your skull. The dull pain now becoming debilitating as her speaking duplicates until the words sound like a chorus hissing, “Stop. Run no more child. Stop, stop, stop. Let it be; this is your destiny. Stop....” A desire to follow the voice’s instruction increases the urge to kneel and rest, weighing down your legs until they are dragging.

Fighting against the lethargy and struggling to regain control you clap your hands over your ears attempting to block out the shrill voice, “Stop. Lay down, rest. Let it be child. Stop, stop, stop. Let it take you. Let it happen. Give in, accept your destiny…” Continuing to slow it feels as if as if your veins are filling with lead forcing exhaustion to take over.

Succumbing to the demands and falling to your knees a sudden calm captivates you, the breaths you panted becoming less ragged, quieting so you can hear your hunter pound towards you. Stopping short it’s hot breath panting on the back of your neck, drool dripping strings in your hair. Elation replaces fear creating a smile that spreads across your face, laughing softly you acquiesce, “I accept.”

A growl erupts against your back but also inside your mind followed by searing pain that clamps like a vice around your neck. The jagged teeth digging into your flesh forces you to feel burning pain lighting your nerves on fire. Hooking it’s talon like claws into your arms relentlessly slashing at your skin it drags your body closer into its darkness. Blood drips from your gaping wounds instantly becoming chilled by the night, the metallic smell of your blood fills the air.

Thunder claps in the distance as lightning erratically spikes purple across the sky; rain begins to pour washing away the stain of red on your clothes, pooling around you and feeding the hungry earth. Another crack booms but it doesn't sound like the previous thunder; instead, the tune rings deep like Dean's voice.

Yelling so loud the cries send a shockwave across the desert floor kicking up dust with its reverberation. Terrified by the approaching storm that billowed with panic and dismay the beast pulls away from it’s feasting. Give one last snarl lashing out at the storm it vanishes into black smoke that is promptly carried away by the wind.

Howling loudly in your ears the air encompasses your broken form, whipping your hair forcing sand into your vulnerable wounds. Dean’s voice continues to boom providing a point to focus on, willing your spirit to move towards it the calls feeling close with each passing second.

“Sweet Pea! Please! Open your eyes…come on, come on, look at me…” Dean’s voice became a shelter soothing the fear that stung as the ground beneath you became colder, your blood no longer warm, gradually drying and sticking to the soft sand. Tingling sensations brushed your cheek as if someone was patting your face, but through the fading of your senses, you murmured to the sky, "Who is that? There is no one; I am alone."

Another equally deep and frantic voice corresponded with Dean’s it sounded familiar, and as they drew closer, you realized that it was Sam. Dean barked orders urgency evident in his voice, “Sam! Get the Impala’s keys…” The words he spoke cut in and out as your body swayed as if on a rocking boat caught in the tide, “Let’s get her in the back. Hurry Sam!”

A roar broke far off somewhere, and you felt a shriek break past your lips, “The beast! It has me! Stop! Stop! It hurts! ” Sushing sounded against your ear causing you to calm slightly. Leaving the dark desert your body floated in a crimson space, a hue casting over you as if you were splayed out underneath red neon. The vast expanse you occupied had no start or end, no up or down; your soul was there…existing with no meaning or purpose.

Flashes of white light strobed against the lids of your eyes, providing a sensation of movement as if you were hurtling towards a faraway destination. The vibrations of Dean’s voice came at you from all directions, crashing against your conscious, waves thick with dismay, "Don't do this to me! Damnit Sam drive faster!” he screamed, "Please don't leave me, Sweet Pea…please…"

A few drops of rain pattered on your face, ‘How could it rain? There was no direction that was up in this place?' Your detached conscious considered. Touching your lips, you discovered that it had a subtle salty taste, one that was oddly familiar. Vaguely remembering it from all the times, you cried over the loss of your past.

Darkness began to fuzzily take over as you became colder and colder, spiraling toward nothingness Dean’s voice becoming more and more distant. The last words that you breathed raggedly with the last shreds of strength you could summon was his name, “Dean…” 

* * *

 

After an MRI, CAT scan, multiple blood tests, and doctors prodding you in every way possible it was finally surmised that they couldn’t determine what triggered your grand maul seizure. Shrugging it off as stress and lack of rest they discharged you later the following day, advising your _brothers_ to watch you carefully and come back if anything changed.

Upon finding out that Dean claimed that he and Sam were your brothers you bit your bottom lip trying to stifle the fit of oncoming giggles. Noticing your struggle Dean shot you a glare explaining his actions, “I couldn’t just let them take you away! Leaving me with no information like a sitting duck!” Pressing your lips tighter you nodded before you burst out laughing, “Well I sure as hell hope we ain’t siblings because…well...” waving your hand back and forth between you sticking out your tongue in disgust, “…ew.”

Snorting loudly he rolled his eyes as he helped you from the wheelchair and into the front seat of the Impala. Usually, you would have put up a fight refusing the help, but admittedly it was incredibly needed due to your whole body feeling sore. Sam whose large frame was practically folded in the back shifted forward leaning over the seat looking at you sincerely, “How are you feeling Sweet Pea? Any better?”

Turning in your seat to face him trying to smile but only comes across as slight grimace due to the ache in your head, “I’m ok, I have had better days. I ache all over but I guess thrashin’ my body against unforgiving asphalt can do that…no worries though I’ll survive.” Giving a sympathetic smile, he squeezes your shoulder gently before returning to his seat.

Pulling the door, open Dean slides behind the wheel nodding in the direction of the hospital, “Let’s get outta’ here…I freaking hate hospitals. They give me the heebie-jeebies” Bringing Baby to life he turns his music down low being mindful of your headache, shifting into gear he pulls away from the hospital entrance.

After gaining a set speed, he grasps your hand rubbing affectionate soothing circles across the back with his thumb. The Impala’s tires hummed as you drove along the narrow road home; staring out the window you enjoyed the view of the landscape that whizzed by. Dean’s eyes fixed on the road except for the times you briefly caught him glancing at you.

Sam lightly snored from his cramped position in the back, head tilted and mouth hanging open. Exhaustion had claimed him after the chaos of last night’s events along with hanging around a bustling hospital all day. Breaking the silence, you finally inquired hoping that Dean could shed some light and put the nagging fear to rest, “Dean…What…” Pausing briefly you hesitate, meeting his scared eyes before nervously continuing, “…what exactly happened last night?”

Gripping your hand tighter he grants you an uncertain smile taking a moment to collect himself attempting to act as if nothing was wrong. ‘Always gotta’ be the stable hero…’ You muse while you patiently wait for his answer. Clearing his throat he explained what happened the night before, “I will tell you one thing Sweet Pea, please don’t scare the shit out of me like that again…”

* * *

 

When Dean found you it was in the middle of the motels parking lot laid in a crumpled heap, anguished screams jerked him from his sleep, and the moment he realized they were yours he tore out of his room. Blind with panic he fell to his knees at your side beginning to pat and scream at you in an attempt to pull you out of whatever trance you were in.

Just as he was about to pick you up and move you, the seizure began, forcing your body to jolt, unable to restrain your movements. Eyes rolling back into your head, thrashing so hard blood began to drip from your nose. Dean did everything he could to spare your body from the inevitable damage, cradling you close he sheltered you trying to take as much of the brunt force as he possibly could. 

Placing his hand behind your head, he cushioned the blows preventing your head from slamming down on the pavement. The doctors praised him on end stating that his quick thinking kept you from inflicting irreversible brain damage that was possible when someone seized.

Listening to him recount his story your eyes wandered over to the hand that lazily gripped the steering wheel, prompting you to study the other hand that was curled in yours. Both were covered with bloody scratches and deep gouges that lined the top of his knuckles evidence of his acts of selflessness in your time of need.

Once you had stopped seizing the brothers loaded you in the back of the Impala speeding towards the nearest hospital. Allowing Sam to drive Dean stayed in the back with you holding your head in his lap attempting to keep you semi-conscious after he noticed you mumbling incoherently. Hoping that his futile attempts would keep you with him long enough that you could escape death.

Huffing a spent sigh, he finished explaining what happened, his fatigue apparent from the bags under his eyes. Noticing how worn out he looked a sharp pang of guilt shot through you, wanting to comfort him anyway you could you lift his hand that was intertwined with yours softly planting soothing kisses along his bloodied knuckles.

Wishing away the bad experience that came with his wounds, praying they wouldn’t scar and whispering against them, “Thank you…for everything…” Pulling your hand up to his lips he fondly returned the kisses, murmuring, “Sweet Pea, don’t you know I would do anything for you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Seizures can in fact be caused by stress and lack of sleep! How crazy is that?


	13. Easy There Tiger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I promised! Here is your smutty chapter! :) Kudos and comments are always appreciated, they help motivate me to keep on writing! Thank you for your love thus far. Enjoy!

After arriving home, Dean fretted over you endlessly making sure that you were comfortable and cared for. After sending Sam to the store to pick up a few items that you needed he settled down on the couch with you. Sinking into the plush couch, he opens his arms enticing you to come closer. Bringing you against him, he tangles himself around you finally resting his chin atop your head.

Further making yourself comfortable you burrow deeper into his side sighing contentedly. Affectionately his fingers trailed down your side tracing a new route up the curve of your spine, tickling so faintly that it generates a wave of chills to shudder through you.

Immediately stiffening Dean retreats from your embrace, his hands grasping your shoulders holding you at arm's length with a gentle but firm touch. Carefully studying your body’s mannerisms; eyes combing over the features of your face searching for any indication of another mounting seizure.

Moving his hands upward supporting the back of your neck in his cupped hands rambling, “Are you ok? Do you feel funny at all? I know that the doctors said that there were signs when a seizure was coming on. Do you feel like you are locking up at all? I am not sure what they meant by locking up _exactly_ but-”

Bending forward you silence his excessive worrying kissing his lips gingerly, “Dean…I am fine, you tickling me gave me the chills.” Chuckling at his own stupidity, he relaxes into your touch responding to the brush of your lips returning the kiss in earnest.

Winding his arms around your waist, he closes the gap between your bodies. The familiar passion that sparked between you during your first kiss washed over you once again eliciting a satisfied moan from you. Once the noise left your lips, you realized your mistake silently hoping that Dean didn't notice knowing what would come next.

Unfortunately, he did; if Dean hadn't been holding your body close then he would have begun flapping his hands about in worry, “Oh God! Did I hurt you?! Shit, I’m sorry maybe I-“ Cutting him off again you scolded, “Dean! _I am FINE_.” Annunciating each word pointedly to prove your point, “Knock it off and stop actin’ like I’m made of glass!”

Catching you in a watchful gaze, he scrubs his hand across his jaw sheepishly, “Sorry…Just…Seeing you seize was pretty damn scary, ya know?” Understanding his fear, you reach your hand up stroking his cheek soothingly, “I know…” wavering slightly you sigh admitting, “I know. If ya can't tell, I'm pretty fiercely independent…it aint often that I allow people to fret over me so much.”

Affirming devotedly he grins broadly, “Well, that is why I am here Sweet Pea, to take care of you and make sure you’re ok.” Holding your hands up in surrender you amusingly admit defeat, “Ugh. Fine…care for me.” Crinkling your nose in playful distaste, “Pet me, feed me and tell me how pretty I am.”

Reacting to your animated expression he tilts his head back laughing out loud before meeting your eyes again giving a wink, “That can be arranged.” Slapping his thighs he stands up squaring his shoulders in authority coughing into his fist before speaking deeply, “Now m’lady, how may I serve you?”

Slanting your head to the side, tapping your chin and looking up thoughtfully before asking, “Well, Mr. Winchester…I would really love to take a nice hot shower.” Reaching down he offers his hand to you, “As you wish.” Giggling at his subtle nerdiness, you feel relief rush through you; it was nice that things were getting back to normal.

Accepting his hand, you allow him to slowly draw you up until you are standing directly in front of him. Raising your eyebrow questioningly then proceeding to interrogate him, “Mr. Winchester! Are you saying you love me?” To which the only response you receive is a chuckle as he leads you by the hand to the bathroom.

* * *

Resting on the edge of the sink supporting yourself with the palms of your hands. Studying the woman in the mirror as if she wasn’t you, ‘Maybe Dean has every right to worry…’ considering your ragged state. Your skin was ashen in color, and there were dark circles hollowing your eyes. The hiss of the shower breaches your train of thought as Dean starts the shower adjusting the temperature, "How hot do you like it, Sweet Pea?"

Wandering over on weak legs, reaching around the curtain you test the water with your hand admitting, "Not hot enough; I like it so hot it practically scalds me." Turning the knob further he smiles, "Ahhh, a woman after my own heart. The hotter the shower, the better.” Steam begins to billow from the shower; finally satisfied with the temperature he stands scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Ok then, errr…here ya go. I will go stand in the hall, holler if you need anything.” Casting a skeptical stare in his direction you grip the hem of your shirt and point out, “Dean…you have seen me buck naked before what does it matter?” Stuffing his hands in his jeans front pockets, he looks down shifting from one foot to the other.

Giving an almost guilty look he whispers as if someone is listening, “What if…ya know… your aunt comes home while I’m in here.” Providing assurance you shake your head before explaining why you aren’t worried, “Naw, she aint gonna’ be home for a few more days. Plus, I like the company.” Visibly unwinding he strolls over to the toilet taking a seat on the closed lid.

Turning your back to him you continue to undress, returning your hands to the bottom of your top as you attempt to pull it over your head a dizzy spell catches you off guard. Almost falling over you sway unsteadily unexpectedly feeling Dean’s strong hold on your elbow helping you regain your balance, “Whoa, easy there tiger! Go slow…” Holding your waist with his other hand, he offers, “Here, let me help you.“

Taking hold of the loose fabric of your tee that had fallen back down around your hips he carefully undresses you. Sliding the material upward skimming your sides, pausing at your rips his fingers brush subtly underneath your bare breasts. Directing quietly in your ear, "Lift your arms please." Complying you raise them above your head, feeling the humid air hit your flesh as your top is discarded on the counter.

His touch falls on your bare shoulders pushing moderately encouraging you to turn around, “Can you turn around and face me? That way you can support yourself on me while I remove your bottoms.” Relishing in the tender care he was providing you turn slowly, breath hitching slightly when you notice the way he admires you.

Clinging to his shoulders shimmying your hips slightly as he works your pajama bottoms and underwear off your hips. Crouching down he silently prompts you to lift each of your feet out, respectfully adverting his gaze as he stands to toss the rest of your clothes aside. Helping you into the shower, he instructs you to lean against the wall, "There, no falling over on my watch."

The hot water cascades over your naked skin, trickling warm wet paths between your breasts and down your abdomen. Shutting your eyes, you allow the ache of your muscles to slip away. Watchfully standing between the wall and the curtain he clears his throat, “Is it ok if I get in with you…?” Opening one eye you peek at him granting permission sighing softly, “Yea, that’d be nice.”

Closing your eyes again, intently listening to him undress hastily, the sound of him swearing under his breath as he nearly falls over while removing his boots. The sound of his belt clanks along with the whump of his heavy clothes hitting the floor. The metal rings of the curtain scrape as the curtain is opened and closed; your body instantly welcomes his presence alongside yours amidst the wet heat of the shower.

Dean’s hand strokes your cheek, “You doin’ ok Sweet Pea? Not feeling dizzy or anything right?” Opening your eyes slightly you nod, murmuring, “Nope, I’m feelin’ better actually.” Ending your sentence he lovingly presses his lips against yours, taking the lead you deepen the kiss further unable to bring yourself to break your locked lips.

Opening his mouth slightly he pants against you, arousal trapping each of you as both your movements become increasingly heated. There was no disputing what both of you needed physical intimacy, it was essential. Dean’s touches encouraging healing after the disturbing events of the night before. The thought of his body flush against yours pushing inside of you brought the comfort that you desired.

His mouth moved fervently against yours, hands roaming over the wet curve of your body; these were reminders that you were here, you were alive. Emphasizing that the world wouldn’t melt away, casting you into the crimson abyss where you drowned in the sea of your blood. There was no lucid dreaming here, Dean’s presence a solid foundation that you would cleave unto.

The caress of his fingers between your slick folds jerked you from reliving the terror that you had endured. Pleasure washed over you, warm and inviting rushing through your veins, carrying bliss to every part of your body. Gradually slipping his fingers inside one at a time thoughtfully preparing your body as he had done before.

It had been a few weeks since the last time you had sex, even though both of you wanted it desperately it felt as if there never was a right time. Giving thanks you whimper unwinding around his fingers, pushing down onto them encouraging him to go deeper. Lowering your hand from his shoulder, sneaking it between your bodies touching his already hard cock, stroking with long, measured movements.

Reacting to your touch, he retracts his fingers from within you pressing his hands against the wall that you're flush against, holding himself up. Setting his forehead against yours he moans between pants, water dripping off the tip of his nose falling hot on your pursed lips. Becoming overrun with pleasure he thrusts up into your palm, desire laced with urgency driving his actions.

Halting his movements he gives a pleading groan, “If you keep working that magic with your hand I won’t last much longer.” Responding to his pleading you suck at his neck and along with his throat to his jaw, nipping lightly. All the while timidly maneuvering him rubbing the head of his cock across your entrance, wetting him for easier access.

Shifting his weight onto his forearm against the wall, he frees his other hand hooking it under your knee dragging you closer and drawing your leg up. The contact of his engorged cock against you sex elicits a lust filled hiss from you, urging him to ease in by angling your hips. Just as he is about to satisfy your hunger, he stops short giving a frustrated groan a string of curses following.

“ _Son. Of. A. Bitch._ I don’t have a condom with me. Ughhh, damnit!” Amused by his frustration you tease him further inserting him slightly to which he responds minimally thrusting in and out before stopping again, “Wait, wait, wait…” he exasperatedly pants, “no condom…” Pulling his head into the crook of your neck you breathe in his ear, "I'm on the pill, you ninny."

Unable to hold back any longer he presses in, ebbing languidly, lavishing the sensation of your tight walls fluttering around him. Drawing in and out softly he works his way deeper with each forward movement until he is buried to the hilt. Stilling himself momentarily, thoroughly kissing your lips, gripping the flesh of your thigh.

Encouraging him to move you rock your hips rubbing him against your walls, following suit he drags out and pushes in more moving quicker. Clambering to meet the downward pressure that your body generates as you move with him. Compared to the first time this moment was completely different, neither of you no longer feeling unsure and tentative.

Pining and desperation, these were words that could describe the way he made love to you this time around. Aligning himself with your form he was determined to hold your bodies as close together as physically possible, seeking the touch of your skin against every inch of his frame.

Such close contact begins to drag you to orgasm faster than you thought possible; you feel the coil of pleasure gripping within you, pushing heat to your core. Vocalizing your yearning, you beg him to go faster, crying out due to the much-needed friction. The sounds of your moans mixed with his heavy breathing lifting high with the rising heat.

Heaving your shoulders upward the tension of building orgasm wracks your body, out of control like wildfire, keening loudly, “I-I’m close, so close keep going, p-please, faster.” Hearing your pleas he quickens his pace, gripping your body tighter and tighter, your climax hits its peak everything breaking loose, forcing stars to invade your vision.

Tilting your head back to the ceiling you clench your eyes shut due to the searing intensity of your orgasm screaming loudly. The sensation of his movements almost becoming too much as you continue to sob riding out your euphoria. Possessively kissing at your neck, he bites softly one last time before suddenly thrusting hard once more.

Spilling over his orgasm elicits a powerful hiss from his lips dwindling down into a deep animal like growl. Rutting his hips harder against yours; instinct taking control attempting to fill you as deeply as he can. Holding himself against you, the pulse of his cock teases your already over stimulated core.

Catching your lips in a passionate kiss, he murmurs again, “Thank you…” In quick desperation, you seek an answer to the question that was formed the last time you had sex, “For what? Ya know you said that last time and then proceeded to pass out before I got an answer.” Before continuing you flash him a teasing smile, “You ain’t gonna’ to fall asleep standing upright now are ya?”

Massaging your thigh, he chuckles shyly, almost in an embarrassed manner, “Did I? Sorry bout’ that, it seems like cumming makes me pass out. Although I have heard that happens to most men…” Steering him back to the question you reiterate, “So…thank you for what?”

Fidgeting slightly he continues to caress along your thigh, his tongue darting out wetting his bottom lip before a newfound confidence comes over him. At last, he broke the silence answering your question genuine sincerity in his voice, “Thank you…for making me happy for the first time in a very long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I love me some good ol' fashioned shower sex, don't you?! :)


	14. Eating In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Another chapter, whoop whoop! Thank you for your patience as always I am a picky poo and I like to take my time when writing. Revising my chapters until I loose my mind. Hopefully some smut will make up for the wait? 
> 
> **(PLEASE READ IMPORTANT)**
> 
> Also, I want to take a poll on what direction my readers would like to see this story go. Currently, I am on the fence and I can't decide on either a happy ending or angsty sad ending. Please vote and comment! 
> 
> Happy ending? Sad ending? OR I could write both and you guys choose which ending to read. :)

If there was ever any doubt in your mind that Dean was not capable of living the domestic life, those un-sureties were put to rest the days following your hospitalization. Shortly after you arrived home, you received a call from your aunt who informed you that her painting exploration was going to take longer than she had anticipated. From that moment on the brothers stepped up to the plate, taking charge of all motel responsibilities and also caring for you.

Learning that your aunt wasn’t going to be home anytime soon brought you relief, which was accompanied by guilt. The love you felt for your aunt was genuine but ultimately, the additional time before you confronted her was needed. During her absence, you would be able to collect your thoughts having the opportunity to decipher everything that you had discovered in that battered ammo case.

Anxiously you had been awaiting your chance to return to her room and clean up the mess that you created. Luckily, the opportunity arose during one of the rare times Dean left your side to run and grab some food. Knowing well that you didn’t have long before he returned you rushed to your aunt’s room; hastily collecting all the strewn papers and shoving the unnecessary items back up onto the closet’s high shelf.

Upon reaching the dreaded moment of cleaning up the documents that fell from the case you swallowed the loathsome confusion you felt. With shaky hands you numbly closed your father’s journal, winding the cord tightly and proceeding to reverently lay it at the bottom of the case. Carefully placing each paper on top of it, almost as if you were lowering and burying the casket of a loved one. Snapping the lid closed you exited the room racing into your own, leaving the door open a crack so you could hear when Dean returned.

The cold dented metal sat in your hands heavily almost radiating an eerie sensation; wanting to rid yourself of the discomfort you quickly shoved the case under your bed. Sitting back on your knees you allowed yourself a moment to ponder, addressing the nagging feeling of the unknown that had plagued your thoughts. Who were your parents? What was the meaning of the dream that led you to seize? Was it just happenstance that all of this occurred at the same time?

As much as you tried to deny it, the dull ache that bloomed that night continued to pulse from the base of your skull. It seemed as if the subconscious of your mind tried to evict an unwanted intrusion, only to fail as the twinge of pain remained present. With the continuous pain came the whispers, these calls were so low they only sounded like forgotten background noise, static hissing from a distance always there but never noticed.

Currently, the idea of admitting to Dean of the lingering pain seemed nearly impossible; he was worried sick already. But to mention the voices? That was out of the question, the idea of the voices disturbed you more than you would like to admit. If this knowledge brought you unease there was no doubt in your mind it would send Dean into a whirlwind of panic.

The front door opened and closed, followed by Dean’s boisterous call mounting concern laced in his voice, “Sweet Pea! You here? Is everything ok?” Shoving the case further under the bed you straightened yourself up, sitting on the edge of your mattress. Pushing the unpleasant feelings away you centered yourself clearing your throat calling out, “I am in my room!”

The sound of bags dropping haphazardly echoed down the hall, the location they were dropped you could only assume was the exact spot where as a child you discarded your backpack. Rapid steps made their way down the hall; Hushing the ache and pushing the continuous whispers away you brought forth every ounce of calm you could before Dean reached your room.

Bit by bit the crack you had left in the door widened, followed by Dean poking his head in the furrow of his brow alerted you to his concern. Patiently you awaited the flood of questions that would follow, “What are you doin' in here Sweet Pea? I thought I told you to stay put on the couch; you need to rest, you know that…"

Folding your arms across your chest, you tossed Dean _‘the look’_ that he was beginning to know all too well. This was the icy cold and stern stare that you had quickly perfected from the many times of being scolded by your aunt. “Dean, you know how stubborn I am. If I wanna move from the couch down the hall to my room, I will make it my mission to do so."

Pushing the door open further Dean shuffles in giving a defeated chuckle, “Yea, yea…I know…” The bed dipped as he settled down next to you pulling you into an embrace, smoothing his hand along your jaw to relax the stern features that spread across your face. Pulling your hands up he pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles, “And that is why I am so damn fond of you.”

Slipping your hand away from his grip you stroke at his cheek, running your fingers through his short hair humming, "Anyway, what did ya end up gettin' us for dinner, Mr. Winchester?" In response to your question he stands, slowly pulling you up with him before intertwining your hand with his, "Come to the kitchen, and I will show you."

It was no secret that Dean loved food and as the weeks marched on it became increasingly apparent that he had developed a longing for Mick’s burgers. When he found out that as Mick would put it ‘flown south for the winter,' he was distraught, fortunately, your small town had an abundance of fabulous mom and pop restaurants to choose from.

After helping you into your seat and scooting the chair in Dean unloaded the plastic bags setting a to-go box in front of you. Sitting down across the table he beamed excitedly in your direction motioning to the container insistently, “Go on, open it.” In your opinion, there was nothing more adorable than how excited Dean got when it came to food.

Even though you knew _exactly_ where he went based off of the wonderful aroma that filled the apartment you acted curious. Not letting on that you knew in an attempt not to squash his enthusiasm, before opening the container, you teasingly began to rattle off random foods, “Is it…Sushi? Or…maybe some Indian food? Italian?" Giving an exasperated snort, he urges you to open the container once more, "Come on Sweet Pea. Don't tease; you're killin’ me. I’m starved, open the box!”

Giggling, you peek inside widely grinning afterward, “Ah, I see you decided on Rosa’s! Good choice, one of my favorites.” A proud grin spreads across his face while he opens his own box and begins to dig in, before you start to eat you add, “It’s a good thing ya got some of her cookin’ now because she is leavin’ in a few days to go home to Mexico for the winter…”

In the middle shoveling, another forkful of enchilada in his mouth Dean freezes eyes growing wide, “Oh come on! Really?! What is up with this town?! They make delicious food and then close shop?! Do they enjoy torturing people?” Amused with his distress you playfully shrug, “We know how to tease ya enough that ya always come back.” Giving a defeated groan Dean begins to eat slower clearly trying to savor each bite.

* * *

Once the meal is finished, you and Dean both cuddle up on the couch beneath a large quilt. Relaxing into his side, you lazily watch the strange antics of Rod Serling in The Twilight Zone; part way through an episode your enjoyment is cut short by a rapidly increasing pressure. What once was the dull twinge spread painfully erupting from the location where the whispers originated. Pressure built behind your eyes taking you off guard causing your stomach to churn in a nauseating way.

Noticing the sudden shift in your demeanor Dean removes himself from your embrace, cradling your face gingerly in his hands, “Everything alright?” Surrendering to the sickening pain, you shut your eyes in defeat letting down your guard, shaking your head slightly wincing as your movements only intensify the discomfort, “No…my head is hurtin’ pretty bad…”

Massaging his hands through your hair working his way around to the back of your head attempting to soothe the searing pain. The gentle touch of his fingers elicits a subtle sigh as you enjoy the minute relief that he is providing. Concern fills his eyes as he studies your face finally asking, “How about we get you into bed. Maybe a dark room and laying down will help, yea?”

Collapsing under the weight of the shooting pain you welcome the thought of your bed, nodding slightly, you agree with his suggestion. Before you can hoist yourself up, Dean stands abruptly hooking his arm under your knees, supporting your back and cradling you close. The comfort of his strong embrace drags your guard down further, snuggling close to the warmth of his chest; the scent of his shirt accompanied by the beat of his heart provides solace causing you to melt into his embrace.

Carrying you down the dimly lit hall into your room he considerately sets you down on the foot of the bed while he draws back the sheets. Taking your hand fondly he assists you underneath the covers pulling each layer up over your shoulders, tucking you in tight, following softly giving you a kiss he moves towards the door, “I’m gonna’ grab you some medicine and water. I’ll be right back.”

Shutting your eyes tightly you attempt to block out any form of light, the pounding in your head almost resembling the beat of a drum. Increasingly, the drumming becomes louder; chanting wails erupting along with it taking on an almost tribal tone. Anxiously you rub at your eyes in desperation trying to counteract the pressure frantically wanting the sound to go away.

Just as a sob is about to escape your throat the soft touch of Dean’s hand settles on your shoulder shushing calmly, “It’s ok, I’m here. I bet once you take some medicine and get some sleep you will feel a lot better.” Opening your eyes slightly you struggle to focus on his fuzzy silhouette illuminated by the dim hallway light, steadily you drag yourself up onto your elbows.

Cupping the medicine in your hand, you pop the pills into your mouth, shakily taking the glass in your hands and promptly washing the medicine down. Exhausted you fall back against the pillows, panic following when you realize that Dean is standing to leave; before he can travel too far, you shoot your hand out grasping his wrist. "No! No…Please don’t go, stay with me…” Pitifully you surmise, “I need you here…”

Putting the glass down on the side table he turns squeezing your hand reassuringly, "Ok, let me get out of my pants and boots, and I will get in there with ya.” Slipping your hand from his you tuck it alongside your other arm under your head, murmuring, “Thank you…” shifting to sit on the edge of the bed he softly jokes, “Hey, anything to get into bed with ya…” Playfully giving him a swat you retort, “Harty-har-har…”

Dean unlaces his boots removing them one at a time, setting them aside and out of the way. With his back to you, he stands to unbuckle his belt, unzipping his jeans and sliding the stiff material down his legs. Unbeknownst to him, you are enjoying the show; blood courses through your body rushing downward and heating your core while watching him undress.

As he bends over slipping out of his jeans you admire the curve of his ass that is accentuated by the tight fabric of his black briefs. Standing upright once more his tee shirt rucks up slightly exposing the etched line of his spine, his muscular shoulders flex pulling the material of his shirt taught as he discreetly folds his jeans before setting them next to his boots.

Before he can notice your longing gaze, you snap your eyes shut just as he turns to make his way to the other side of your bed. The sensation of him lifting the covers and slipping underneath is followed by the warmth of his body curling up behind you, his arm winding around your waist and dragging you closer to him.

Once he is all situated and comfortable, he begins placing soft butterfly kisses along the nape of your neck. Responding to his touch you pull one of your arms from underneath your head, trailing your fingers softly up and down his forearm. Pausing briefly from his soft kisses he whispers against your skin, “I could get used to this…”

Moving your hand down you tickle across the top of his hand, caressing each knuckle and rubbing down each finger. “Get used to what?” you ask faintly as you sneak your fingers between his, interlocking them tightly and drawing your enclosed fists up resting them over your heart. Nuzzling his nose into your hair he mutters, “Living the domestic apple pie life with you…”

Giggling you question, "Apple pie life?" Reacting to your infectious giggles, he laughs lightly, “Yea, apple pie life is something Sammy and I came up with. It’s slang for living the normal life…you know…House, white picket fence, dog and 2.5 kids…” The rumble of his voice vibrates against your body rushing through you bringing with it serenity, your eyes become heavier with each of his words.

Drowsiness clouds your thoughts; there was safety here emanating from having him so close, this comfort he brings causes your walls to crumble. Before you can think or even stop yourself you groggily mutter into the darkness, “You want 2.5 kids..?” Everything becomes foggy, and your voice almost seems far off as you continue, "I was thinkin’…we should have…more like 1.5…”

* * *

There are no dreams; there haven't been since the seizure; instead, it is only the whispers. These whispers tell you where to go, what you must do, coordinates of your destination; accompanying the voices is the pain that forces its way through every synapse of your brain. Lighting your insides on fire, unfurling wildly and submersing you in the redness of the flames, that crack and hiss all around you.

Waking suddenly, you come to the realization that you are drenched in a cold sweat, the dry chill that settled in your room falling on your damp skin. Warmth radiates against your back as Dean still sleeps deeply behind you, the pout of his full lips somewhat placed against your neck, his breathing tickling your flesh. The contact of his body rekindles the burning that had consumed you in your sleep; it was if you had never been so aroused in your whole life.

Rushing downwards the arousal settles between your thighs, representing itself as a throbbing ache. Seeking desperately for friction you instinctively angle your hips back grinding your ass into Dean’s groin. As you feel his member begin to stiffen your excitement rises higher, leading to your body to cry out for his touch.

The rhythmic rocking of your hips tugs Dean from his sleep, without saying a word the hand that hugged your waist traverses it’s way to your hip. Giving guidance, he urges your behind to rub more roughly against his cock, grinding against you with building fervor. Before long, the thick darkness of your room fills with pants mingled with the subtle squeak of your bed that shakes due to your movements.

Removing his hand from your hip, he snakes it down slipping it underneath the band of your bottoms. Stroking across the dampening fabric of your panties he nibbles on your ear hotly panting, “I wanna taste you…” Accepting the offer you moan rolling onto your back, reveling in the thought of Dean lapping hungrily at your entrance.

The thick blanket of darkness only adds to the intensity of the moment, the lack of sight forces you to become more in tune with your other senses. Moving swiftly, Dean tosses the covers aside, hooking his fingers into the waist of your bottoms dragging them down your legs. Caressing from your ankles upwards he tenderly places his hands on your bent knees inviting you to part them.

In an instant, his touch is gone leaving you anxious as you lay in wait of his next move. Suddenly your breath hitches at the sensation of his lips skimming lightly down your abdomen tracing along to the rise of your hipbone. The surprise of his caressing causes your hands to flit to the back of his head, one anchoring him in place against your body while the other slips over his shoulders and along the curve of his back.

Teasingly moving towards your core, he parts his lips panting softly against your prickling flesh, inching lower and lower. Gliding his hands rhythmically up and down your thighs he finally settles on your hips, the tips of his fingers gripping lightly digging gently into your flesh. A shudder rips through you when the hotness of his breath pants between legs signaling that he is lingering over your dripping heat.

Moving at a patient and slow pace it is evident he taking his time exploring your body striving to please you in every way possible. The rough palms of his hands skillfully work their way up your body, gliding over your ribs until they land on your breasts tweaking each nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Whimpering at the stimulation, you practically cry out as he begins to faintly kiss along the lips of your pussy.

Reacting to your cries, you feel him smile against your skin before progressing to your entrance, opening his mouth and stroking his tongue up and down your slit at a leisurely pace. Answering to the ability he possesses to stoke your arousal your body swims in desire provoking your pussy to become increasingly wet. Removing his hands tenderly from your breasts he drags them down your body grasping your hips, lifting upwards he hooks your knees over his shoulders.

Settling into the mattress, he lays on his stomach pressing his face further into your aching heat. Keeping his touches consistent his fingers tickle along the inner part of your thighs producing a tremble that forces you to cling to him tighter. Rotating his tongue in subtle circles, he listens intently to your moans following the direction your body gives and adjusting his ministrations accordingly.

Tugging at his hair seeking the pleasure he is providing you press his mouth against you harder, your hips swaying side to side and intermittently rolling back and forth coaxing him to further satisfy you. Just when you think the bliss you are experiencing can't become any more intense, he slips a finger into your pussy hooking it upward and stroking your sweet spot in unison with steady upward drags of his tongue.

Groaning against you the vibrations of his voice triggers you to buck involuntarily up against him yearning for his fingers to push deeper. Shifting upward he massages your clit with the tip of his tongue simultaneously sliding another finger inside you, keening loudly you feel the climax of your orgasm mounting. Craving sweet release you begin to beg, “I-I want to come w-with you inside me…”

Loosening your grip on his head allowing him to pull away, the moon provides minimal light just enough to see him sit up shoving his briefs down revealing the curve of his member. After crawling up your body, he settles between your legs the tip of his cock probing at your entrance, rubbing between your folds. Kissing your lips passionately he murmurs, “As you wish…”

In one swift motion, he pushes his cock inside, gliding easily helped along by your dripping wetness. The groan that reverberates deep from within him tickles your lips as he begins to thrust in and out picking up speed. Clinging tightly to him the familiar tingle that elicits your climax begins.

Arriving forcefully you are caught off guard by the sudden intense orgasm forcing you to shudder and practically scream against Dean’s lips. Thrusting harder he works his way to his release, the pleasure he continues to inflict almost becoming too much. Scratching at his back, you suck and bite roughly at his lower lip, feeling him tense as he begins to contribute to the warmth in your core pumping his hot seed into you.

Refusing to pull out he continues to hold you close panting harshly, the only movement he makes is to passionately kiss you once more. Breaking from the intimate kiss he places his face in the crook of your neck, the curl of his lashes tickling faintly as his eyes flutter closed. No words are spoken, there was no need for them, and it was at this moment you decide, ‘If this is what it takes to make a baby maybe I _do_ want 2.5 kids with him...’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my work! I love you all, kudos and comments motivate me as always. Friendly reminder, cast your vote on what direction you would like to see this story go! 
> 
> \- Happy Ending?  
> \- Angsty Ending?  
> \- I write both and you decide which to read?


	15. The Past Isn't The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the hiatus, please don't panic dear readers this story IS NOT abandoned. I am in it to win it! ;) I struggled writing this chapter because I wanted to be certain it flowed well and made sense, creative slumps do happen and I am learning that the more I write multi chapter works. 
> 
> After reading comments the majority has spoken and our story will be ending on a happy note (queue cheers from me and groans from my best friend and my beta). As for WHEN it is ending at this point I am not sure stay tuned to see what happens. :) As always, I love comments and kudos, I love to hear what you think of the story and our characters. Please enjoy! <3

As a child you loved the story of the princess and the pea, night after night you would plead to have the fairytale read aloud as you burrowed deep under your covers. This time around you are the princess and that case…that mystifying case was the pea. It sat under your bed, discarded but not forgotten, contents of a puzzling past nestled within, fragments of history. If you ever felt any pity for the princess you were feeling it now, the case was a thorn in your side, never leaving your thoughts as you tossed and turned at night the knowledge of what lay beneath the box spring haunting you.  
  
Inside that weathered case was some sort of dark and abysmal labyrinth that you felt forced to navigate alone. Documents and mementos stacked inside so casually you would think that it held baby photos or a photograph of a newlywed couple smashing cake into each other's faces. How could such a small container contain evidence that could completely rock your world?  
  
Eventually, it was becoming agonizing never having enough time alone to investigate the case to the full capacity that you desired. Dean lingered by your side night and day, and to be honest, you didn't mind the affection, but you knew that other duties needed his attention. Once the doctor had cleared you for work, you cornered an unsuspecting Sam and demanded that he encourage Dean to accompany him during his research once more.  
  
After reminding you to call him if "anything seemed off" for the billionth time and fretting over how he, "absolutely did not feel comfortable leaving you in your state." Sam drug his protesting brother out the door plunging your apartment into an almost eerie silence. Briefly, you felt relieved until fear promptly followed nipping at your heels, tugging at your heart strings and already causing tears to prickle your eyes. The alone time was good, truly it was needed, but attempting to manage the magnitude of information single-handedly left you feeling unsure.  
  
Heading towards your room, you padded quietly down the hall, upon entering you wandered to the window which had a good view of the parking lot. Peering through the blinds you giggled while observing the brothers, Dean talked animatedly with his hands while strolling to the car Sam awkwardly in tow. The swinging of his arms and shaking of his hands made it clear that he was lecturing Sam about how his brother's "silly research" was not more important than, "caring for Sweet Pea."  
  
Watching them interact always intrigued you, between punching each other in the arm, arguing over who deserved the last piece of pizza and spatting "jerk and bitch" playfully towards one another there was no denying that they were from the same gene pool. The relaxed mood you began to feel during your reminiscing of the Winchesters was shattered by the sound of Baby's engine slicing through the silence.  
  
Shifting away from the window you faced your room, standing unmoved rubbing your hands along your upper arms as if trying to warm yourself from a chill. The case called to you, like it always did, invading your dreams and plaguing your thoughts during the day, the whispers intermingling with it. Slithering in like snakes, their tongues sparking flames that engulfed you, strangling your mind with billows of scorching smoke. The burning flick of flames was not a metaphor, no, it was the constant pain in your head that was slowly driving you mad.  
  
The time came to a halt, at least it appeared that way, willing yourself to move you walked forward towards your bed, each step feeling clumsy and uncoordinated; kneeling down you lifted the bed skirt and grasped blindly for the case. When your fingers brushed the cold metal, the voices erupted and became just as loud as when you had your seizure. Yanking away you instinctively examined your hands almost convinced that blisters had begun to form where you had touched the case, but your flesh stood unscathed.  
  
Inhaling deeply, you slowed your racing thoughts, building blockades to shut out the voices momentarily. Realizing your small window of time was wasting away you thrust forward sliding the case out, flipping open the metal latch and dumping all the files on the floor. Before the stinging sensation could assault your touch any further, you chucked the case across the room. In your carelessness, it slammed against your dresser causing a few of your trinkets to tumble to the floor.    
  
Turning and falling weakly against the bed frame you shut your eyes combating the war that had begun to rage behind them. Shaking away the chaos you knead the tips of your fingers into your temples, feebly hoping to get to the bottom of things before your aunt returns home. Scooping the documents into your arms, you drag everything closer arranging them in order around you; settling down in what feels like a paper nest you begin to analyze each shred of evidence.  
  
It was mainly a hodgepodge of various newspaper clippings, photos of mythical creatures that were torn haphazardly from library books and coordinates scribbled on crinkled scraps of paper. As you dug further the glint of something hidden beneath the paper chaos catches your eye; the item must have been heavier because it fell to the floor faster than the light fluttering papers.  
  
Gingerly pushing some old photos aside, you uncover what was underneath, it was a delicate engagement ring. The glimmering that grabbed your attention originated from the center diamond that was adorned on either side by triangles of turquoise each pointing toward the center stone. Upon further inspection, you notice that the band is etched with dark lines resembling the shaft of an arrow curving around until reaching the impeccable detail of feather fletching at the base of the ring.  
  
Pinching it between your fingers, you squint reading what is inscribed on the inside, "Ayóó ánóshní" you murmur, this phrase was not foreign to you. Songs were sung to you as a child with this phrase; every night it was whispered after a kiss against the crown of your head while your father tucked you in. It was a universal saying, spoken in every dialect across the globe, "I love you."  
  
You had admired this piece of jewelry before; it was worn by a woman in a single photograph that you fixated on all throughout your younger years. The photo was a snapshot of your parent's wedding, the beautiful woman flaunting the ring was your mother. In the candid, her left hand was thrown over her mouth stifling laughter as she gazed adoringly at your dad. Although the colors were faint and muted the striking teal of the turquoise and the glitter of the diamond had always captivated you.  
  
All your life you firmly believed that no other woman was as gorgeous as her, the photo was all the solid proof you needed. The sparkle of joy in her eyes caught up in the crinkled smile of her cheeks always flooded your heart with warmth. The photograph became your obsession, and as hard as your father tried, he couldn't keep you away. It brought you comfort, every night you ran your fingers over their forms dreaming of happier days while you drifted off to sleep.  
  
Cupping the ring in one hand, you trace around its edges racking your brain as to why the carvings of this piece seemed so familiar. Where had you seen something like this before? At that moment, a shiver ran up your spine, tickling faintly along like a spider making its way up your back. Without thought, as if to smack the insect away you reach underneath the fabric of your t-shirt. Instead of coming in contact with a bug you are greeted by the well-known rise and fall of your scar.  
  
Stroking along the scars rough texture, your gaze eventually drops to the ring in your palm. At that moment it struck you like a punch in your gut, similar to your branding, the diamond was the center circle while the turquoise triangles were the arrows pointing inward. A symbol of protection against evil symbolically weaved into your mother's engagement ring. Questioningly you considered, what exactly was your mother needing protection from?  
  
Adding the new question to the ever growing pile of uncertainty you reach above your head opening your side table rummaging around inside. Finally, your fingers run across the familiar velvet box, after retrieving it you crack it open revealing your father's wedding band. Tucking your mother's ring alongside his, you admire the completed pair as you run your finger along the scratched white gold of your father's band.  
  
Snapping the box shut you return it to the back corner of the drawer, wedging it against the wood walls. Closing the side table, you direct your attention once more to investigating your father's documents continuing to organize each scrap of paper into various stacks.  
  
After everything was organized, you set your father's journal in the middle, staring absently gathering the courage to read what was hidden between the pages. Time passed, how long you were uncertain, and still you sat gazing at the carefully placed pile. Grasping the journal with determination you flipped through the pages until you found the entry you searched for, their wedding day.  
  
You knew deep in your heart that you couldn't just focus on the happy entries that you found were safely nestled at the center of the book. The joyful times seemed to be fleeting in comparison with the devastating experiences elsewhere in his journal. Before you began you swore up and down that you would delve further into your father's unknown past after reading this entry.  
  
_August 18th, 1982 – Kanab, UT_  
  
_The day was brutally hot and the air dry, but honestly, I didn't give a damn because today Haseya became my wife. We were married within the walls of a secluded canyon upon Haseya's request. Because neither of us have much family left we were married in private. Anna was unable to make it due to a hunt that she and Paul were engulfed in; she apologized until she was blue in the face, but I didn't mind because at the end of the day I wed the love of my life_.  
  
_The ceremony was conducted by a Shaman who stood in the center of the alcove light filtering down behind him. Haseya and I walked hand in hand towards him, our steps slow, unrushed and in sync with one another. As we walked I couldn't keep my eyes off her, everything about her was wild and free. Maybe that is what drew me to her, she led a life without hesitation, without fear, she was everything that I wanted my life to be._  
  
_Just like her untamed spirit, her raven hair flowed loosely to her waist, feathers of various sizes and patterns were woven into the strands of hair next to her cheek. The bronzed skin of her shoulders were exposed by the relaxed way the material of her dress draped across them held in place by a braided drawstring tied just above her chest._    
  
_The hollow of her throat was adorned by an intricate turquoise necklace made up of several circles that blossomed outwards resembling roses. Designs of her people's history were painstakingly hand sewn around the collar and cuffs of the white cotton material, telling the story of her heritage and providing tokens of good fortune.  
  
The_ _bottom of her dress swayed in an airy manner, kicked up by her bare feet stepping in the sand, it's hem stained orange from walking in the dust of the red rock. She hummed and chanted the native songs of her childhood softly; she turned and looked at me as we walked, a smile spreading across her face she was happy, I was happy, and it was a glorious day._  
  
_I write all this down because there isn't a moment that I don't want to remember, that way whenever I read this entry I can be taken back to the happiest day of my life._  
_Anna probably would tease me endlessly if she found out I was writing all this, punching my shoulder and calling me a sap. She was always the tough one, never the touchy-feely type although it seems like Paul is softening her up._  
  
Finishing the entry, you failed to control the tremble of your bottom lip as subtle tears slid down your already wet cheeks. Your father had always been a man of few words, but when he loved...he loved with such intensity, this you always knew. It was his writing that stunned you it was both poetic and moving proving to be more beautiful than you ever imagined.  
  
Losing him left a gaping hole in your heart, a large gash which was only filled with sorrow and anger over the years. Over time you were able to cope and little by little forgetting about the pain your loss had left. Replacing it with occupying your time working multiple jobs and caring for everyone around you, always putting your wants or needs on the back burner. As you read his words detailing the meaningful moments of his life the grief you were well-acquainted with began to creep up, washing over you and gripping tightly.  
  
Sucking in a breath you stilled the growing swell of emotional turmoil, you decided in that instant that you would no longer allow yourself to run, it was time to put these demons to rest and move on with your life. The pain of betrayal was inevitable, and at that point, you surmised that it was futile cowering from it. There was more about your family that you needed to know, and if that knowledge was accompanied by misery, it was necessary. Flipping backward through the journal and picking a date at random you read further.  
  
_January 25, 1974 – Pennsylvania_  
  
_I can't stop laughing and even now as I am writing Anna is shooting me glares because I can't contain my hearty laughs over today's events. When we caught wind that there was a Bigfoot lead out in Pennsylvania Anna was over the moon. Bigfoot had always been her favorite legend, and if she could bag that monster, she knew she would become a legend herself._  
  
_But what did we find? No, it wasn't Bigfoot…it was some weird hippie living off the land and keeping warm underneath mass amounts of animal pelts. We barged into the poor guy's hillside shelter guns drawn scaring him half to death. I am pretty sure he pissed himself before dropping the joint he was about to take a toke from. Throwing his hands up yelling, "T-that ain't weed, nooo sir, that's oregano brother!" and that he had "Nuttin' to do with all those protests man!"_  
  
_After we muttered our embarrassed apologies and reassured that we weren't part of the CIA, we made our way back to the car where I erupted into laughter causing Anna to turn beet red. Oh man…what a day…WHAT. A. DAY._  
  
Laughing out loud you could almost hear your father's boisterous laughter in your mind, when you came of age your aunt always mentioned, "Ya know, Sweet Pea, that infectious laugh of yer's reminds me of yer daddy's." Maybe being a hunter wasn't all bad, you considered, it appeared that their lifestyle had fun times. Although, maybe they were trying to make the best of the cards they were dealt.  
  
Feeling more excited than before you decided to read the next entry a new-found curiosity bubbling up and driving you forward. The smile on your face faded as you started to read the beginning lines of his next entry, the cheerful mood of his writing shifting drastically almost taking on the tone of a tortured soul.  
  
_March 6th, 1974 – Blandenboro, NC_  
  
_Death...there is always death, it doesn't matter what we do…in this world we are only an insignificant speck. We think we make a difference hunting the supernatural but in the grand scheme of things we aren't doing shit._  
  
_The past few weeks we have been camped out in North Carolina looking for something to do. After we did some digging we found a connection between a series of deaths and a creature called the Beast of Blandenboro, Anna was convinced it was the werewolf she had been tracking for what feels like forever but I wasn't so sure._  
  
_Upon further research, we discovered that it picked certain people to stalk and eventually kill. What I found truly disturbing was that it didn't track just anyone, no, it thirsted for virgin blood. Its victims all had a similar M.O., virgin, female, and under the age of 16…ages varied, the youngest being 9 years old and the oldest victim perishing just before her 16th birthday._  
  
_The killings needed to stop and we were determined to make that happen, after questioning various people around the small town we were directed to a conservative family who had only one child, a daughter that was 15 years old. We needed to gain additional information, so Anna urged me to develop a relationship with the suspected victim._  
  
_Her name was Eliza, and she was a stunning girl, with gentle, natural curls, faint freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose and a dimple in one cheek. Her eyes were dark, doe-like almost and sometimes when we would chat I silently hoped she would meet my gaze again and again. Before I knew it and going against Anna's advice, I had developed a crush on Eliza…_  
  
_Last night, Eliza was walking home from her friends around midnight when the beast we were trying to stop attacked her. We were staked out in front of her house having no idea she had snuck out earlier, her screams alerted us…those agony filled screams…what we found will forever haunt me, her doe-like eyes staring blankly off, what was left of her body angled oddly on the cold sidewalk and her beautiful face splattered with flecks of her own blood._  
  
_But what really kills me…is the bastard got away…my bullet merely grazed its flank. Not only could I not save Eliza but I couldn't even calm my nerves enough to avenge her death._  
  
_Her birthday was next week; she was going to be 16…she shared her dreams with me…there was so much she wanted to do. She was so full of life, and that was taken away from her…Anna told me not to beat myself up too much over it. She coldly reminded me that we can't save everyone, I know we can't save them all but why is there so much evil in the world that we need to protect them in the first place?_  
  
The way your father described the girl's dead corpse in such detail created a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. It made more sense now why he and your aunt wanted to remove themselves from the hunting lifestyle, your father's reasoning more so than your aunts. In his entries it was evident she was deeply enthralled with the exhilaration of the chase and hunt, why would she abandon the hunting life is she loved it so much?  
  
Just as you were about to dive deeper, you were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Baby pulling into its usual spot just below your window. ‘How could they be back already? Didn't they just leave?' your mind raced, glancing at the clock on your nightstand you were surprised to see that you had been engulfed in your father's writing for hours.  
  
Moving quickly, you hopped up from the ground causing your joints to complain slightly due to the amount of time you were seated on the unforgiving floor. Dashing over to the discarded metal case you reach down hastily forgetting what had happened only hours before. As soon as your hands grazed the metal, the familiar burning sting erupted where your fingers touched.  
  
Jerking away reflexively you leer at the case in utter confusion, ‘what in the hell is happening to me?' you thought frantically. Before you could make any sense as to why you could no longer touch the case you hear Dean and Sam making their way up the stairs, their heavy boots stomping loudly.  
  
Realizing there wasn't much time left before the brothers reached the apartment you used your foot to kick the case under the bed, sweeping all the papers along with it. The journal was the last item to hide, winding the cord tight you rubbed the pads of your thumbs along the worn leather before kissing it's cover reverently. Finally, tucking it securely under your side of the mattress just as you heard the front door open and shut.  


	16. Wake Up Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mothers Day my loves! I am super-duper excited to post this chapter, why? Because it has smut, angst and a cliff hanger. AWH YISSSSSSS. Read, enjoy, validate (i.e. kudo, comment, bookmark, follow) the crap outta' my work! ;) Adore you all and thanks for taking the time to read my work, you are the best!

The world appeared horizontal in front of you, laying in bed you stared; the orange oak of your sliding closet doors the same as always, never changing. You stared, mind blank a never ending expanse of nothingness, stagnant in its motion. You stared, vision partially blurred making no effort to focus on the bleakness that surrounded you.

All night you stared, sleep eluding you, depriving your weary mind of the much-needed rest that it craved. Hours passed, but still, you gazed on, watching the light of car headlights dance across those doors as travelers cruised by. Listening to the pump of your heart thudding away parallel with the faint sighs that escaped Dean.

Regardless of the heat, there was nothing you could do to pry him away from your form. After various failed attempts to scoot away, he eventually would notice the lack of contact and sleepily nestle closer. This waltz continued all night until you were practically hanging off the bed, Dean's strong arm that was looped around your waist the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor.

Blearily you glanced around, blinking a few times, you figured it was 5:30ish in the morning based on the angle of warm light that peeked through the slats of your blinds. The anticipation of your alarm sounding off in 30 minutes made you feel on edge, urging you to get out of bed early and start the day unwillingly.

After mulling it over you decided that today you would return to work, the lack of productivity had begun to drive you stir crazy. Secretly you hoped that the monotonous and repetitive chores of cleaning the motel rooms would provide solitude. Granting silence that you could fill with soft humming accompanying your thoughts as they pieced together the puzzle of your family's history.

Before the alarm could launch its full blown attack of obnoxious beeping, you twisted from Dean's grasp slightly, leaning forward and shutting it off. In the act of trying to wiggle away from the weight of his body, Dean stirred snaking his other arm around your waist. After pinning you to him helplessly, he scoots to the middle of the bed hauling you along with him.

A huff of slight annoyance escapes your frowning lips, believing that Dean was still submerged in a deep sleep you once more struggle to untangle yourself from his grasp. In anticipation of your futile escape Dean squeezed tighter drowsily murmuring against the nape of your neck, "If I'm correct Sweet Pea, I had scheduled some awesome sexy time with you this morning."

Proving his point he conveys his deep yearning by tilting his hips forward rubbing the ridged tip of his erection against your ass. ‘Chores be damned!' you groan internally, ‘They aren't going anywhere…' Turning around you press flush against his chest the length of his hard cock now pressing firmly against your aching groin.

Opening your mouth slightly you ghost your lips along his, nipping at his bottom lip which in turn provokes a rumbling satisfied moan, "Well, Mr. Winchester, I believe I can pencil ya in." you retort coyly. Tugging you closer he lightly tickles along the bunched hemline of your shirt now exposing the bare skin of your hips. Placing chaste kisses on your mouth gradually trailing downwards along jaw line he inquires, "Oh really now? Hopefully, ya scheduled me for the rest of the morning…I like to take my time…"

The texture of Dean's messy bed head feels inviting as you run your fingers through it, tugging the strands gently drawing growls from deep within his throat. The musky scent of him intermingled with the familiar smell of your laundry detergent tickles your nose in a pleasing way. Shutting your eyes and humming contentedly you tease, "Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Winchester…I have set aside a whole five minutes."

Abruptly the caressing stops, Dean dramatically and comedically throws his hand to his chest in a gesture of offense, attempting to pull his best pouty face speaking exasperatedly, "Hey, hey, hey! It has now come to my attention that you are not satisfied with my services…" Biting your bottom lip, you respond by erupting into a fit of giggles causing Dean to smile broadly the corners of his eyes crinkling in glee.

As you remove your hand from his hair, you smirk at him, playfully walking your fingers down his chest inching lower and lower. Nuzzling the tip of your nose against his you purr hotly, "You are wrong Mr. Winchester…Quite the contrary I'm very pleased your services…" Shifting his shirt up slightly the tips of your fingers travel lower, the feather soft touches making his breath hitch.

Sneaking your hand underneath the waistband of his snug briefs you edge even further down, continuing seductively, "But now it is time for me to return the favor…" Grasping his thick shaft you swipe your thumb across the engorged head of his cock, watching keenly as he groans freely, gripping your hips in a possessive manner.

Giving a gentle squeeze the smooth motions of your hands gradually begin pumping him. Tucking your face closer to his you allow yourself better access to his lips licking seductively along the bottom. Pulling back the intensity heightens as you stare into his green eyes watching them flutter closed in pleasure, his tongue darting out and wetting his bottom lip.

Acting almost instinctively Dean begins to rock his hips, thrusting tentatively into your fist. Giving him a few more pumps you halt your movements retrieving your hand from within the confines of his briefs. Dean begins to whine at the loss of contact, "Heyyyyyy, whyda' stop? I was…" Before he can mutter further you shush his frustrated groans by pressing your finger to his pouted lips, "Because Mr. Winchester...this favor extends further…"

Setting both hands against his chest you apply minimal pressure, taking the hint he rotates his body tossing the blanket that covered you both to the floor and settling flat on his back. Taking control you straddle his hips, gripping the hem of your loose tee and pulling it over your head. The smooth skin of your breasts is exposed to the chilly morning air causing your nipples to pebble upon contact.

The palms of his hands grace up your thighs, hitching up your short pajama bottoms finally ending at the crease where your hips and thighs connect. Dean's eyes rake wantonly over your form until finally his intense gaze meets yours. Giving a low whistle, "Damn Sweet Pea, if this is my wake up call every morning when I wake up next to you…" Dipping forward you interrupt his sentence, kissing roughly along the scruffy pulse point of his neck, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Trailing up his arms both of your hands dominantly grip the muscle of his upper arms, savoring the flex you feel underneath as Dean returns the aggressive kneading of flesh. Nipping lightly you feel a pleased shutter rack his body punctuating it with a grunt, "uhn…then sign me up…" finally panting out the rest of his sentence.

Sitting back you steady yourself on the broad expanse of his defined chest eyeing him seductively, "Few get the ‘Sweet Pea mornin' special…consider yourself lucky Mr. Winchester…" torturing him further you grind down rubbing your quickly moistening heat back and forth across the painfully definite bulge in his briefs.

Digging his fingertips into your thighs hard enough to leave marks he throws his head back groaning, "…Oh god…Sweet Pea…" Pausing he licks his lips once more panting hotly, "You're such a tease…" Scooting backward you descend his body gripping the waist of his bottoms tightly and tugging them down with you, freeing his erection, which now curved upwards towards his abdomen.

Stepping off the bed landing directly in front him you sashay in a circle giving him a show, turning your back to him you bend over shimmying out of your bottoms. Now completely naked you return upright tossing the scant lacy bottoms in his direction, quipping lightly, "Speakin' of the good Lord…I guess teasin' was jus' one of the many talents he gave me."

Making himself comfortable he moves his hands behind his head smirking at you with a knowing twinkle in his hooded eyes. Crawling up his body you nudge his legs apart with your knee, settling down between them, grasping the base of his cock bringing it to your lips. Dwindling mere centimeters from the tip murmuring, "However, teasin' ain't the only thing he blessed me with…"

Just as you were about to wrap your pursed lips around the leaking head of his cock the familiar ring of the first chords of "Smoke on The Water" erupts, breaking the intense lusty haze. Pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes a frustrated groan rips from Dean's throat, "Maybe that higher power doesn't want me to enjoy those beautiful lips of yours around my dick!"

Shoving his hand under the pillow, he grasps blindly searching for his phone, retrieving it he glances at the screen his face tightening in annoyance. Hitting the silence button, he drops it beside him, "It's just Sammy, whatever he wants it can wait." Carding his fingers through your hair affectionately, "I've got more important things to attend to."

Granting him a sweet smile you lean forward attempting to begin once more when the rock chords stall your movements. Growling audibly Dean snatches the phone from his side hissing angrily, "He better be dying, and if he's not I am gonna' kill him!" Yanking the phone open he answers the call, "What in the hell do you want Sam?!"

The sound of Sam's deep muffled voice comes from the phone, but you are unable to decipher what is being said. Eyeing Dean seductively you chuckle at how desperate he appears, rushing the conversation in order to get off the phone with Sam. Now with his attention no longer on you, he tilts back his head pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. At that moment you get a wicked idea, it was a game, and you were all about playing games.

Dean huffs exasperatedly completely unaware of what devious plan you had begun brewing in your head, "Ok, ok Sammy that's great n' all, but I am kinda' in…" Pleasure catches him off guard sending an intense shockwave up his body provoking an loud moan; shooting his head up he glares down at you eyes following as you bob your head and hollow your cheeks sucking the head of his cock.

‘ _What are you doing?!_ ' he mouths frantically, swallowing him deeper you gaze innocently and shrug your shoulders. Refusing to break eye contact you take him all the way in until the tip of his member bumps the back of your throat. When you pop him out of your mouth and lick from the base of his shaft to the tip his eyes roll back into his head.

Trying to choke back his satisfied pants he desperately clenches at the sheets with his free hand, tightly finishing his sentence, "In…in the middle of…something. I'm in the middle of something, Sam." Arousal racks the pitch of his voice, consequently causing his vibrato to be lower and throatier than usual. The vibrations of his grunts and groans rumbling from his core motivating your heart to beat faster, heat pooling between your thighs.

Sam proceeds to speak, but the older brother isn't paying attention; instead, he is holding the phone at arm's length gruff moans falling from his lips. Wrapping your hand around his cock you stroke in line with the drag and draw of your mouth, your saliva slicking your palm providing lubrication so that your hand can slide easier.

The new sensation generates a thrust into your lips, Dean glances down rocking his hips forward and back, unclenching his jaw enough to mouth, ‘ _I hate you._ ' Removing your mouth giving the tip of his cock a playful swirl of your tongue whisper back, "No ya don't." Punctuating your statement, you end with a wink returning his length deep into the warmth of your mouth determined to make him go mad from pleasure.

Realizing that it has been a while since he responded to Sam, Dean brings the phone back to his ear holding it in place with his shoulder. With his hands now free he laces them in your hair dictating the pace, the heat from his palms on the back of your head stirring a moan from you. "Wh-whas' that Sam?" Dean stutters, "Oh yea…I'm fiiiinnnneee. I'm fine. Uhn... Peachy keen. Perfect as p-pecan...oh...pie."

Savoring the hitch of each breath and the grasp of his fingers raking through your hair you surmise that this will need to be a game you both play more often. There was something about dominating a Winchester bending him to your will that was undeniably exhilarating. "Well, can't cha just go without me, Sam? I'm not your babysitter…"

The thrust of his hips gathers speed, his hands guiding your head down onto him with each upward movement. Realizing how close he is you suck harder, palming his balls softly with one hand and gripping his thigh with the other. Breathing thickly his hips begin to stutter forcing him to gasp out loudly, "I'm coming!" After his warning the oddly satisfying salty taste of his ejaculate fills your mouth, closing your eyes you swallow it dutifully.

Releasing from the grip of his hands you lick his seed away from your lips noticing he is watching you with wild eyes. Hazily drifting back from his post orgasmic high Dean realizes his mistake, scrambling to explain the sudden outburst, "Yes! I mean yes, yes Sam, I'm coming." Coughing awkwardly into his fist clearing his throat he continues, "I changed my mind I will tag along. There's nothin' that I find more exciting than interviewing half dead old folks."

Extending an arm Dean beckons you back into his embrace; crawling up his body you tuck yourself against his side, folding your hands against your chest nuzzling your nose up underneath his chin. Planting chaste kisses against his Adam's apple the curl of your lashes tickling the line of his jaw. Placing a kiss on the top of your head he wraps up his call with Sam, "Yea, yea, okay…See you in 10."

Loudly snapping the phone shut, an agitated sigh wooshes past his lips, pulling you into a loving embrace he kisses your head once more before getting out of bed to dress. "I'm sorry, I have to go…Apparently, Samantha is too scared to go do this interview by himself. " He apologizes while locating his discarded briefs, strolling over to your desk he retrieves his weathered jeans that lay draped over the back of your desk chair.

Drawing the comforter up to your chest you cover your still bare body, attentively watching Dean re-dress cradling your head in the crook of your arm. Finding Dean's rant humorous you chuckle loudly asking in teasing disbelief, "I never really pegged Sam as the ‘scared of lil' ol' ladies' type…" Your bed dipped slightly as Dean sits down on the edge his back to you slipping into his boots, the taut muscles of his back rotating as he tugs each boot onto his feet, oh god how you loved his back.

Bending over he begins to tightly lace them up, glancing over his shoulder momentarily he corrects you, "Actually it's an old guy, supposedly the geezer that Sam is interviewing for his…uh…book has a tendency to get aggressive. Rumor has it he has shot at people tryin' to get them off his property."

Sitting up on your elbow you peer at him quizzically, "Is it anyone that I know? Ya know, someone in town?" Shaking his head, he leans over playfully ‘booping' the tip of your nose with his forefinger, "I know you can't swing a dead cat without hitting someone you know here but naw, this guy aint' in town. Sammy thought it would be a fantastic idea to drive 3 hours to some podunk place called Fillmore."

Collecting his phone, keys, and wallet he leans over your frame kissing your lips tenderly, lingering momentarily before pulling away, "So, unfortunately, its gonna be an all day thing…" Providing a reassuring smile you understandingly nod, "I was actually getting up early to go clean the rooms before my aunt gets home anyway."

Pressing your lips together in a firm line you flash your best ‘bitch face' in an attempt to impersonate your aunt. Dragging out your vowels in almost an exaggerated manner, "As she always says, ‘A clean motel is a happy motel!'" Throwing his head back Dean laughs loudly, "Your aunt seems like an interesting lady, I can't wait to meet her."

Shifting awkwardly under the sheets you are yanked from your perfect little dream world with Dean. ‘Oh, that's right..' you realize seething bitterly, ‘She will be home soon, and then shit will hit the fan…' Biting the inside of your cheek you force a smile, "Oh ya...uhm…She's...great."

Making his way to the door Dean chided, "WELL. I'm off…" He paused momentarily for emphasis, "…like a prom dress!" Rolling your eyes, you giggle under your breath waving him away in a playfully dismissive manner; there was no way you were going to validate Dean and his horrible puns.

* * *

Luckily, due to the lack of tourist flow, there weren't many rooms to clean; aside from the Winchesters, since your aunt had left you had only rented one other room to a couple. They were a quiet elderly husband and wife who stayed only a few days, eventually moving on towards the warmer weather of Arizona.

Consequently, there was very little to do and cleaning ended up not taking as long as you had originally anticipated. After wrapping up the final room at the far end of the parking lot, you felt satisfied with the state that the motel was in deciding to make the rounds back to the main office. Strolling down the sidewalk that ran in front of each room you pushed a cart stacked high with fresh linens and an assortment of other cleaning products.

Halting when you were about to pass the brother's familiar door, analyzing the chipping paint on the outside. The tarnish of the brass ‘one' which was fastened in the center glinting at you as if it were a welcoming beacon inviting you inside. Thrumming your fingers on the carts handle you contemplate, ‘The brothers have been here a while and have never requested a clean…Maybe I will straighten up a bit, it is the least I can do after how much they have helped me.'

Removing the master key from your pocket you slip it easily into the deadbolt, the tumblers clicking loudly. Opening the door, you promptly bend down wedging the doorstop underneath allowing easier access to the cleaning cart. After returning to your standing position, you rub your hands together taking in the room and figuring you should make a list of the things that needed to be done.

Upon turning to inspect the corner at the front of the room, you come face to face with a scene that compelled you to freeze. Bound to your spot practically unable to move your blood runs cold rushing through your system dragging a shutter along with it. Cautiously you proceed further into the room, hoping that if you got a closer look, you could justify the disturbing sight.

The front corner of the brother's room is covered in documents, notes, photos, maps each piece either tacked into the course wallpaper or taped together, string zigzagging between documents you assumed were important. ‘Maybe it is just Sam's book research…?' you hope, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth. Unfortunately, based on the location of all the information it was evident that the brothers made it a priority that their collage not be seen by anyone from the outside.

Never had you been the snooping type but now here you are, realizing this you felt a pang of guilt rush through you. Shifting stiffly to leave a photo caught your attention, the photo that beckoned you closer was a picture of your father. Not just any photo, no, this image sat prominently at the top of his obituary, upon seeing this your fingers began to fly against the better judgment of your brain, combing hastily through all the information.

Every piece of paper on that wall pertained to your life in one way or another, your birthday, full name, background information, photos, everything that could possibly be known about your personal family life on display tacked haphazardly into the aging wallpaper.

Balling your hands into fists at your sides you desperately fight to keep your composure, fury beginning to boil from the pit of your stomach forcing your breath to quicken. Using an old calming technique you learned you start to count backward in your head; feeling the boil dissapate to a simmer until your eyes fell upon a collection of photographs circled around a drawing of a creature. The monster that you had all too well become accustomed to, memorizing its features more in depth with every night it terrorized your dreams.

Poorly taken black and white snapshots of a crime scene wrapped around the monstrous creatures drawing. Inspecting the photos more carefully the sense of dread threatened to strangle you once it struck you what these pictures were taken of. Every photo was from the crime scene where your father was slaughtered, close up details of his mangled body, measurement devices detailing how long each gash was sickeningly illuminated by the camera flash. Blood splattered the sand pooling around his head, the blankness that replaced his gentle soft eyes similar to the girls he recounted in his journal. 

Horror mixed with betrayal rapidly evolved into fury, a rage that was completely against your good nature. Gripping tighter the knuckles of your fisted hands became white, emotions and thoughts speeding out of control like a runaway train. Dean was using you, toying with your emotions…and for what? To gain information.

Then your composure broke, and something took over, something that you had never felt before. The thrumming of the drums in your mind burst through the dam you built, the almost forgotten pain blowing out of control. The world was wrapped in fire, and you were perched in the center holding the match, from then on you knew that you would never be the same.

* * *

Sam sat across from Dean in their room, a disgusted look on his face while watching his brother practically shove a whole breakfast burrito into his mouth. Attempting to tear Dean's attention away from the apparent passionate love affair with his food he clears his throat before speaking, "So…Dean, have you talked to Sweet Pea today?"

Shaking his head Dean swallows an enormous amount of food, wiping the grease off his hands with a frail napkin. "No, I was actually gonna' go up to her apartment and see if she was around after I finished eating." Crumpling up the brown paper to-go bag with an irritating crunch Dean tosses it into the garbage can that is practically overflowing with old food boxes.

Right as Sam opened his mouth to speak a rap came at their door Dean hopped up happily strolling towards it chortling, "Hey! Maybe that's my _fine foxy lady_ right now!" Still facing Sam with a satisfied smirk Dean throws open the door but when he turned to greet the unknown guest his smile faded, Dean was staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le' Gasp! Whaaaaaattttt?! I know right? You excited for the next chapter? I sure as hell am. :)


	17. This Is Not Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it isssssss! Sorry for the cliff hanger but...gotta keep you guys on your toes, right? Thank you for loving me as much as I love all of you! Now let's see what kind of mess the Winchester boy's got themselves into now, hmmmm?
> 
> FYI there is also some profane language and abuse in this chapter.

Dean stood motionless, completely dumbfounded by the scenario that was currently unfolding before his very eyes. This situation seemed surreal, foreign almost, so out of character that he felt tempted to pinch himself… _hard_. We’re not talking giggling teenage girls pillow fighting kind of pinching, nope, we are talking worst elementary school bully giving you a titty twister kind of pinch. If that didn’t yank him back to reality, then he would whip out his trusty knife and nick his flesh, because this could not be happening.

Sure, he had his fair share of "twist endings," you know, the small town priest banging the mayor's daughter who ended up being a Siren...Or waking from a Djinn dream only to find that the 40 years you just lived was fabricated even though it felt incredibly real. This situation though? Dean did not see this one coming, not by a long shot. 'Damn…' Dean thought, 'I guess that's what happens when you let your guard down.'

* * *

Somewhere within the unfathomable portions of your mind, the rational part of yourself was chained in a corner screaming for this madness to stop. This wasn’t you… _you knew better_ …the years your father was alive he taught you pointing a gun at someone was completely out of line, especially if that someone was a person you loved.

Nevertheless, your familiar form stood in the doorway of the brother’s motel room, finger poised on the trigger, a sneer on your face with sights set on blowing the love of your life’s head clean off. This woman wasn’t you…No, your body had been hijacked, and whoever this thief was it is the farthest thing from what you could ever be. Adorned in tight black leather pants, a skimpy top and heels it was evident that whatever had taken hold of your body was enjoying its time playing dress up.

The out of character crimson coated lips spoke, but the words that tumbled forth took on a tone that resembled nothing of your voice; how your body moved to the malicious glint in your smoky eyes all indicators that the  _real you_ was not in control. Everything about this other person was sinister, dark, and utterly vile, you could feel it.

The darkness was everywhere all at once; it was the chains that were painfully clamped around your wrists that held you prisoner. On the other hand, it was also your only form of sustenance, the means for your survival; the voices wanted you to know this, they chided wickedly reminding you that if you did not bend to it's will they had no issue snapping your neck.

Would these voices keep their word? Would they let you be free once they had finished borrowing your body? Probably not, but somewhere there was a minuscule part of you that had hope, hope that maybe there was a way out of this. Profound optimism that whatever your body was being forced to do would not end in bloodshed but until then you were captive, watching as the last sliver of happiness in your life was destroyed.

* * *

Narrowing her eyes, she cocked your shotgun continuing to point it directly at Dean's face; his eyes wide with worry, brows knit together in confusion and mouth agape. Scanning the space, she concluded that Sam currently sat at the table in the front corner of the room, his view being obstructed by the door that hung open wide.

Cautiously lifting his hands, Dean showed that he meant no harm, speaking in a smooth, calm tone almost like he had done this before, “Sweet Pea…What are you doing?” Uttering no response the vigilantly that had taken your form proceeded to stroll forward shoving the double barrel further into Dean’s face, silently urging him further into the room.

The action of forcing Dean back provided Sam a view of what truly was happening, exposing the barrel of the shotgun with each step she strode forward. Realizing the sensitivity of the situation Sam scrambled to his feet tripping over himself during his attempt to unfold from his cramped location at the table. Complying with the silent demands that resonated from your clearly agitated form by shuffling backward until his legs hit the bed.

Giving an aggressive jab with the spike of her black heel she closes the door with a single swift kick, bringing Sam into her line of vision. Much like Dean, his hands are raised in line with his chest as a sign of "no harm here, " but instead of confusion laced with hurt, his eyes exhibited sadness and worry.

Handling the gun with confidence, she keeps the butt of your shotgun placed firmly against her shoulder, every action flowing skillfully. There was no denying that she accessed your expansive knowledge of firearms; the realization of this provoked your stomach to knot anxiously, no void of your mind is safe from her snooping. All your memories, experiences, life lessons exposed and she could use whatever she wanted to her advantage.

Nodding towards the beds she speaks for the first time fiercely barking a command, "Sit." The voice is nothing like yours, lacking the subtle drawl that was smooth like honey, an endearing trait that the brothers had come to know so well. Upon hearing the difference Dean's demeanor changes, a glimmer of something flashing behind his eyes.

Shifting from one foot to the other Dean shoots Sam a hopeful look while proceeding to edge forward in what appears to be an attempt to gain control of the situation. Giving you the benefit of the doubt he reiterates his previous question, "Sweet Pea, I asked, what are yo-“ Cutting him off she lowly hisses punctuating each word snippily, “I. Said. Sit.”

Understanding that you are not a force to be reckoned with Sam lowers himself down onto the first of two the queen size beds. Dean though, being the stubborn man that he was continued to stand, desperately trying to reason with you. Taking a step forward in an attempt to pull you back from whatever abysmal place you had fallen, “Why are you doing this, Sweet Pea?”

Before Dean could breathe another word, she rears the barrel of your gun upwards firing a round into the ceiling directly above Sam, causing an avalanche of sheet rock to crumble down onto his head. Throwing his arms to cover himself he defensively shouts, “Hey! I listened! Dean is the one being an idiot!”

Emptying the chamber with a swift pump forcing the hot shells out sending them cascading onto the carpet. Returning her aim to Dean she reloads the chamber once more, facial features hard and unforgiving, "I said, sit the fuck down, or next time I will be redecorating the room with little Sammy’s brains.”

At the mention of harm coming to his brother Dean glares furiously at the suspected stranger. Unsure if it is worth the risk jaw tensing tightly followed by him slumping down onto the corner of the other bed. A gleeful smile tugs at the corners of your stolen crimson painted lips, “That’s my boy. Now, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Lightening her load, she shrugs off the large black canvas duffle bag that was slung across her back.

Crouching down the other you retrieves two sets of handcuffs from within the bag, displaying them proudly in one hand smirking, “Now, before the _real_ fun begins I probably should make sure you silly boys have an understanding of who is in charge here.” Proving her point she closes the gap between herself and Dean, pressing the barrel of the shotgun roughly against Dean’s temple.

Leaning over she drops the first set of handcuffs into Deans lap, the stare that she has fixed on Sam burning hot like embers. “I know you were hoping for a different kind of fun honey…but…not this time. I need you to cuff your baby brother.” She whispers hotly into the elder brothers ear. Without a word Dean tensely snatches the handcuffs from his lap; with the shotgun still pressed firmly against his head he leans over the small gap between the beds grasping Sam’s wrists which he has obediently put behind his back.

In the middle of Dean clicking the first handcuff into place, she grabs the back of his neck, halting his actions; her sharp nails digging deeply into his flesh. Forcefully jamming the gun deeper into his temple causing his head to tilt to the side she adds with a snarl, “…and do them tight! I’m not a dumb ass, I can tell when someone isn't putting cuffs on correctly.” Shooting a fleeting glare in her direction he squeezes the metal tighter drawing a pained grunt from Sam.

Refusing to meet his captor’s fiery gaze Dean stares straight ahead while returning to his upright position. As he stiffly slips his hands behind his back the features of his face remain hard, no traces of emotion to be found. Granting praise that drips with mockery she purrs into his ear while restraining him, “Good boy, I love when my hostages cooperate! It just makes a girl feel tingly in all the right places.”

Giving his ear a playful nip she clamps the cuff down roughly, the metal hissing as it slides into place. Wincing only slightly Dean makes no sound, holding his ground even when the warm sensation of his blood begins to trickle from his wrists and drip off the tips of his fingers.  

Shoving off of Dean and moving away she answers the question, “What am I doing Dean? What is little old me up to? Well…the motel has gotten complaints you see...” Pausing briefly she motions towards them, “Apparently, we have a _rat_ infestation and I am here to sort the little fuckers out.” Remaining indifferent both men sat fixed, the only thing moving is their eyes that comb over the person that has now strolled into their line of vision.

Casting Dean a stare full of loathing she speaks smoothly the tone of her voice dripping with hostile sarcasm, “Oh! By the way…” Waving her hand in reference to the information hung on the wall, “I love the little mural you boys did! There are things on that wall that I didn’t even know! I applaud your investigative skills, love your form. A+!”

Helplessly watching from your subconscious, you cringe at the fury that you involuntarily are unleashing. Weeping unknown tears over every harsh word that is thrown from your lips in a stolen voice. Fighting against your confines, you demand this madness to stop failing as the darkness surrounding you grips tighter. Begging, you cry out against the blackness only to have your sobs echo back intermingled with maniacal laughter. Your world is falling apart.

Sauntering over she caresses the photos of your father’s mangled corpse, the expression she provides is almost as if she were  blissfully reminiscing, “Want to know my favorite part of your photographic exhibit? I just adore these pictures of David, I remember that day just like it was yesterday…” Continuing to run her fingers over the photo she sighs, “Isn’t it so fascinating how a simple photo can bring back all those memories? It’s like I can hear his screams, smell the metal tang of his blood…”

As her focus isn't on them, Sam subtly inches his hand backward searching the usual place under his pillow for his gun. Unfortunately, their captor was keener than they thought and a powerful shot is fired leaving their ears ringing. Cold air grazing Sam's cheek as the shrapnel from the shotgun whizzes past his head, “Go ahead, reach under your pillow for your guns,” She jeers, “but I can assure you boys that you will come up empty-handed...”

Removing her left hand from the shotguns pump grip reaching behind her and tugging out each of their handguns from their place in the back of her pants. Waving them in the brother’s faces, she laughs, “…Because you boys are _reallllyyyyyy_ deep sleepers….” Dropping each handgun onto the discarded duffle, she adds while cocking the gun heavily, “…and by the way Sammy, the body I now control is an _incredible_ shot, more so than her daddy. Try to sneak by me again, and I won't miss."

Tilting her head eyeing them carefully a coy smile spreading across her face, “I also wanted to comment on your artillery…nice spread…I’m a little jealous.” Observing their demeanors change she scoffs an answer to the silent question that crossed their minds, "Don't bother lunging and trying to wrestle the guns away from me either, I emptied all the ammo out already.”

Dean's once calm and collected demeanor begins to rapidly unravel, spatting in her direction, “How did you get our guns?” Staring at him with an inquisitive stare she shook her head tutting softly tapping her forefinger to her temple, “This little noggin is full of tricks, apparently, lock picking is one of them. Running the motel...impressive lock picking skills…you do the math.”

Allowing his curiosity to get the better of him Sam clears his throat, breaking his silence, “Wait, you said, ‘this body I control and noggin full of tricks…’ what exactly do you mean?" Resting against the table, she rolls her eyes as if Sam should already know the answer, "I can only assume by this point that it is obvious your beloved Sweet Pea…” Disgustedly throwing quotations around your nickname, “…Would never act in such a _deplorable_ manner."

Standing directly in front of Sam she hooks her finger under his chin jerking upward connecting his eyes with hers. What he sees is only fire, licking flames deep within her eyes terrifying and captivating. Bending forward she asks, “Can I tell you a secret?” Grasping his chin in an iron grip she wrenches his head to the side, gazing directly at Dean she whispers loudly in Sam's ear, “I borrowed her body…”

Observing that her actions are finally getting to Dean, she pushes further, reveling in the power she has over them. Locking her eyes on Dean's she licks along the side of Sam's face, breathing in the scent of his hair and exhaling a seductive moan, “I can see why your little slut is hot for Dean over there but Sammy…” Grabbing the bulge of Sam’s crotch she delights in the furious jealousy that is cascading over Dean's face, "You are my type….mmm, mmm, mmm.” Before pulling away she kisses Sam hotly on the mouth, biting his bottom lip so hard that blood is drawn.

Interrupting the forced physical contact Dean grits out, “So, you aren’t just a bitch but a demon, then?" Shoving Sam backward onto the bed she lets out a loud laugh, "You would be so lucky! No, I am not a demon. I think for myself, I don’t go hog wild the second I obtain a body like some horny out of control angsty teenager. No sweet cheeks, I’m not a demon…I’m much… _much_ worse.”

Rolling his eyes Dean snorts, “Oh-ho-ho, let me get this straight you’re not just a bitch but a bad bitch!? How original…” Abruptly there is a loud crack as she slams the butt of the gun against the side of his face followed by a searing pain that sends Dean’s vision into a flurry of blinding white. The smell of metal fills his senses as blood begins to trail from the newly formed gash right below his eye, sliding down his cheek and pooling in the crease of his mouth.

Reaching down and fisting the hair on the top of his head she jerks roughly backward bringing him face to face with her. Glaring furiously with eye’s burning hot like the sun she screams, “Don’t fucking disrespect me or I will have half a mind to kill that quick fuck you call Sweet Pea!” Striking across the aching sore that she just inflicted with the back of her hand she hisses, “I can burn that little bitch from the inside out! _Don’t. Test. Me.”_

Groaning lowly Dean peers upwards, blood smeared under his expeditiously blackening eye and across the bridge of his nose, rasping out “Where…uhn…wh-where is she? Where did you hide her you dumb bit-” Hitting him once more she drags Dean up by his shirt from his slumped position before pointing at her head with the barrel of the shotgun, "Oh she is here sweetheart, fighting desperately to escape…She always did have a lot of spunk like her daddy…"

Before another snide remark can slip from Dean’s blood crusted lips Sam interjects, “Ok! Ok…Dean! Shut up.” Just as Dean begins to open his mouth to say something once more she backhands him again. Moving agitatedly as if to throw his hands in the air Sam shouts at Dean, “Seriously?! Dean?! Just…Shut. Up. Dude.” Shifting his stern bitch face that was being thrown at Dean to a softer inquisitive look he asks, "You apparently went through all this trouble to get here so there must be something important you need to talk about…"

Nodding in agreement, tightening her grip and lifting Dean so she can hiss against his lips, “Listen to your brother honey if you know what's good for you." Releasing his shirt she drops Dean onto the bed, bringing the back of her hand to her lips she laps away the blood that had coated her knuckles before cleaning the rest off on Dean's shirt. "Enough playtime, we have some serious business to attend to, you see boys… “ She paces the room stopping in front of the evidence wall and savagely tearing papers down, throwing them in the brother's direction, "I don’t much appreciate people meddling in my personal affairs.”

Retrieving a crumpled photo of you from where it fluttered to the floor she continues, “What with all the research and well…” Moving to stand in front of Dean she drags the photo of you down his bloodied cheek before ending at his throat her hand clamping around his windpipe choking him with surprising strength, “…one of you fucking my family…We can't have that darling, it's got to stop."

Though he is only able to wheeze Dean manages to sneer, “and what are you gonna' do if we don’t stop.” Her eyes flash with a wicked glint, “Who said I was going to give you the chance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun, dunnnnnnn. What are they going to do?! It seems pretty bleak, huh? Stay tuned to find out. ;)


	18. A Wind Chime in a Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is my darlings! Hopefully I haven't left you in suspense for too long! Please enjoy the story and I adore hearing through thoughts about plot, characters, where things are going. I am in awe that I have received immense amounts of positive feedback and love for this story. When I began writing Dull Day's I originally intended it to be 5 chapters but instead we are now on chapter 18! Thank you for support, seeing that I have received kudos and comments has encouraged me to continue writing. 
> 
> xo

What was this? A lack of control, complete and total helplessness, and in the end that is what it always seemed to boil down to. Why did you ever think that you held power over any decision? The pivotal moments in your life where you found yourself halted facing a crossroad now irrelevant because deep down you knew, without a doubt that each step you took was leading to this moment. Anguish is the ink that you write your story with, and disaster is your pen, why did you think that this would be any different?

The zipper of the black duffle grated loudly as she slowly unzipped it revealing the brother's arsenal, which she had stolen from the trunk of the Impala the night before. Watching in horror you observed hands rummage through a wide assortment of weapons finally settling on and retrieving a large hunting knife before she proceeded to stand, erupting in a fit of satisfied giggles, “I find it only fitting that I flay you with your own knife Dean.”

Inner turmoil erupted as she used your stolen hands to guide the jagged edge of the blade upwards, teasing the tip of it down his cheek. Sam’s cries for this to stop in the background washed out by the voices laughing spinning all around you. Why did you let it get this far? Allowing Dean and Sam to be killed by your own hands, whether you intended to or not. Ultimately, you let them in, you allowed them into your twisted world, and now…they were suffering the consequences.

Washing in and out the reality of the situation seemed to be crashing over you, this could not be happening. This wasn’t happening, crying as loud as you could until your voice cracked with hoarseness. Fighting against the suffocating black that wrapped around you. There was no greater pain than this, helplessly watching Dean die in front of you and seemingly by your own hand.

"No! Whoever you are, don't do this! Please!” Sam shouted struggling roughly against the tight cuffs cinched around his wrists. Ignoring him the unknown being smoothed her hand through the tousled coarseness of Dean’s hair quietly chirping, “Shhhhh Sammy, don’t fret baby it will all be over soon.” Struggling further Sam fought harder, yelling, “No! Dean!”

Carding Dean’s hair between her borrowed fingers she tugged with a subtle softness that was almost sickening. Drawing his head back leaving the muscular expanse of his throat exposed pressing the knife against the ridges of his larynx. With his face twisted into a grimace Dean is unable to meet her gaze, not daring to stare into the face of his lover, yes he knew it wasn't _her_ , but it was _still_ … _her_.

The sharp edge of the knife dug deeper a searing sting tearing from its meeting point, gripping painfully she hisses, “Look at me, let your precious Sweet Pea watch me drag the life out of your eyes with my blade.” Lifting his line of vision Dean looks intently at her, if he was going to die at least he could attempt to push away all the evil that held Sweet Pea in its midst and hone in on the attributes that he knows well, the curve of her lips, the softness of her cheeks, the fullness of her lashes.

All these things were his, and he was determined to memorize every feature to carry with him into the next life. Calmness washes over Dean causing his face to soften, undoubtedly preparing for what’s to come and facing it with the poise and dignity that only Dean Winchester himself could exude.

Peering through the curtain of darkness you savor the last fleeting moments of Dean’s life, knowing full well that there is no miracle that could save any of you now. Sadly observing the vulnerable and exposed features of his face the greenness of his eyes appeared wearier than you remember, the blonde tips of his curled lashes dampening slightly with the tears of sorrow he is holding back.

Inhaling deeply his eyes flutter closed and he rasps, “Apple pie life, Sweet Pea, apple pie life…that’s where I’m goin’…” Giving a wicked laugh she leans closer, scoffing, “The ramblings of a mad man, too bad I have to mutilate such a handsome face. Goodbye Dean Winchester, say ‘hi’ to my bastard of a husband in Hell.” Unable to watch you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the familiar sensations that are to come from taking a life.

As if by some miraculous tender mercy time slows allowing a millisecond of time for the door into the room to burst open in an explosion of wood that splintered due to the force of being kicked in. At that moment you hear it, a distinct sound that compels boundless joy to course through you, the melody of hollow clinking, resonating from turquoise bangles.

Reacting to the intrusion your captor whips around directing her attention to the unwelcome guest. Frozen in place, you sense a tremor of fear shiver through the unknown being's once relentless persona. The surrounding voices that once scorned and mocked now shriek in terror, fleeing for presumed safety. Consequently, in their frantic retreat, the tar-like darkness loosens enough allowing you to wiggle free.

Wielding your father’s colt python towering in the doorway is your aunt, emitting a dominance that is foreign to you. The soft flowing pilgrim style dress that she often wore replaced with weathered green cargo pants that are tucked into the tops of her tightly laced combat boots. The tanned, freckled skin of her shoulders exposed by the dirtied white tank that she wore and around her neck hangs a long chain with a symbol; two arrows.

Granted her varied dress you recognize the motion of the tassels on her suede vest that sway lightly in the wind that wriggles its way through the fractured doorframe. The usual meticulous braided and thick weaving of her snow-white hair hangs loosely, stray hairs flitting about framing her face.

Being carried on the breeze her inviting scent of fresh water lily’s and chamomile tea fills your senses, spurring your once extinguished hope, which had been buried beneath your grief. In an attempt to find your way out you run wildly, dashing through the halls of your psyche that strangely resembled a slot canyon, calling their names, determined to win this war.

Resembling a wind chime in a storm the bangles on her arm jingle noisily as her thumb clicks the hammer into place, staring down the gun's barrel aiming at the body of her last living relative. Unflinching, unmoving, completely sure of what she is up against.

Bravely, marching forward your aunt closes the gap between them, her strong arms supporting the gun with ease, speaking confidently, “Let them boys go.” Retorting to your aunt’s command the unknown being releases Dean from her grip directing her knife in your aunts direction shouting furiously, “ _You!!!!_ I thought I _killed_ you! I sicced half the coven on your old ass!”

Releasing a light laugh your aunt quips, “Well darlin’ I guess ya underestimated me then didn’ ya?” Moving with mind-boggling swiftness your aunt reached back retrieving something from the pack slung across the expanse of her shoulders. Before anyone can comprehend what it is she tosses it at the stranger’s feet.

The fiery eyes that are nothing like yours drop to the object which rolled across the floor finally stilling at her feet. An anguished howl works it’s way from between her lips, because staring back at her is a face of someone she was familiar, what had landed at her feet was a severed head.

Releasing the knife that was clenched in her fist, she slumps to the floor, settled on her knees and cradling the head in her hands, wails racking her frame, “My brother! My friend! My family!” Glaring at your aunt she bellows, “What have you done?! You murderous whore! _What have you done_?!”

Returning her heated gaze with an equal intensity, your aunt shouted, "Payback fer’ ya practically slaughterin’ my whole family an’ everyone I loved.” Pausing briefly she adds coldly, “an’ quiet frankly if ya weren’t possessing the body of my niece I would take _immense_ _pleasure_ in providin’ ya an agonizingly slow painful death.”

The argument between the two women reverberates off the orange sandy walls within your mind, virtually deafening you. Sprinting and turning corners you dart down endless corridors, ‘There must be a way out…’ you speculate, ‘It is my own damn mind I should know where I’m goin’…’ Halting abruptly you pause your frantic running, tapping deeply within, making contact and attempting to regain control.

Amidst the inner turmoil that was crashing against you, the outside world was in a flurry of chaos. An unearthly growl ripped deep from within your throat as the assailant moved your body in your aunt’s direction, however before she could move any further your aunt lowers the gun to her side raising her right hand, palm facing the familiar intruder.

Shutting her eyes with poise your aunt begins to sing filling the room with a well-versed chant, “Hehewuti di ni’ maka ninovan, bii’ di yizhi ‘adeezhi sitsi, yanaba. Shi be’jitl’o doo hadiilkaal t’aa altso aliil…” Stopping the being, which had taken you hostage, rigidly thrashes about, struggling to cover her ears, screaming with ferocity, “No! Y-You cant…t-this…this is i-impossible!”

Maintaining a persistent calmness your aunt forges ahead, singing powerfully "Bee di adziil t'aa altso ni zonta a'adaat'ehigii…" Crumbling to her knees the thief shrieks louder her open mouth being filled with sparks that resemble the spark of a fire. Spreading through the veins of your body, creating a harsh yellow illumination to glow through your skin.

The chant continues, “Shi nabizdiildoh di na’anish be-gha t’aa akwiiadilgashi’i…” Recoiling, the smoky blackness that crowds your mind triggered a hurricane like wind to whirl around you. Whipping sharply against your face it collided with your body relentlessly. Furiously wiggling its way into any and every exposed part of your body that it could reach bringing with it the sensations of every known negative emotion imaginable.

The dust that clouded your vision stung painfully compelling your eyes to close, squeezing them tightly you attempt to block the external blasts that you were being granted. Without your sight, you stumbled blindly being tossed about by the billowing murky wind, which began to spark and hiss like a crackling fire.

From all around you can hear the distant pained cries, which belonged to the individual who had stolen your body. “No!” it roared, “No! No! No!” Advancing towards your escape, you inch forward establishing as much distance possible from whatever bellowed angrily over your shoulder.

Hunching forward you choke thickly; invading your mouth the toxic vapor intermingled with gritty desert sand elicits a coughing spell from you. Pinpointing the location from which your aunt’s voice calls you shuffled forward, opening your eyes to the violent storm and noticing that with each labored step a far off crack of light gradually increases in size.

Freedom was just within your grasp; unfortunately, the smoke realized this as well thus escalating it’s already rapid momentum. Snatching at you greedily, the gusts ignited into a scorching heat showering down an array of glowing red cinders. Fire tendrils singeing your clothes and hair settling on your cheeks eliciting instant agony. Biting back a yelp due to the sensation of being engulfed by fire you press on, the resolve you have to live undeniable.

The soothing tone of your aunt’s voice gradually fades as the piercing yowls of the adversary batter your soul savagely. Deprived of the guidance from a reassuring and recognizable voice your internal drive begins to flicker being replaced by gloomy thoughts that ultimately questioned whether or not this was the end of the line.

In an attempt to duck away from the abusive blows that the fog was supplying you falling to the earth mere feet away from freedom. The dreaded darkness blankets you once more forcing you to cry out bracing yourself for the end, curling in on yourself muttering dryly, “I’m so sorry Dean…I tried…”

Reaching out weakly you make one last effort expecting to only come in contact with the constricting sensation of despair. Instead, the tips of your fingers brush along the palm of someone's extended hand that grips yours reassuringly and drags you from within the dark canyon crack into a brilliant white domain.

* * *

The angle of your body twists and turns in ways the brothers have never witnessed in all their years hunting the supernatural. Fire surges through your veins, the lava-like substance forcing its way higher until it glows brightly through the surface of your skin.

Tumbling the heat wildly devours you from the inside out, blazing light drips from the corners of your eyes. Streaking your cheeks with brightly illuminated tears that sizzle when they fall to the carpet. The sheer intensity burning your skin, leaving behind a trail of blisters that branded your face.

The woman, the brothers, can only assume is your aunt remains in an almost trance like state speaking lowly, now murmuring the chant repeatedly. Unaware of the possibility that the niece she fought so hard to save is  at her very feet dying consumed by fire.

Struggling with his confines Dean dismisses the sharp pain that emanates from the lacerations inflicted by the cuffs. Breathing deep and slow he does his best to cut out the distracting encompassing chaos focusing on freeing himself. The previously crusting sores begin to trickle blood once more, fighting harder Dean recognizes the steady flow of warm blood pouring from his wrists.

Comprehending there is no chance of escaping on his own Dean yells in frustration, “Damnit! Where’s the key?! Where did that dumb bitch put the key?! Sam! Help me with these cuffs!” Looking to his brother in frantic desperation Dean is met with the sight of Sam intently picking the locks of his own handcuffs.

With skilled and nimble fingers (which Dean would not deny he was jealous of both in the hunting world _and_ with the ladies) Sam frees one hand. Leaving the other cuffed he leaps over the bed, landing next to Dean and hastily sets to work on releasing his brother.

“Hurry, Sam! Come on man, hurry! She’s dying!” Dean urged his breath quickening in a concerned flurry. Fumbling faster Sam responds tersely, “I’m…I’m trying Dean…” But thanks to those damn skilled fingers in no time at all, Sam frees his brother allowing Dean to intervene just as the flames that were pouring from within your body disintegrate into thin air.

Now liberated from the powerful pandemonium that had taken hold your body feels immensely emptier than before. Weakened from your mental torture you stumble slightly, body beginning to slacken due to sheer exhaustion. In anticipation of your tumble to the ground, Dean lunges forward, awkwardly grasping your body and gathering you into his arms.

With a gentle firmness, Dean supports your body, sagging to the floor; reaching up with one of his bloodied hands he tenderly touches the burns on your face. Tilting his head to the side, he listens for any signs of life, which to his relief he finds as you puff a shallow breath against his ear. Drawn from her trance your aunt drops her pack rushing over crouching down next to you and Dean.

Setting her fingers against your throat she searches for a pulse, similar to your breathing her touch is met with a faint beat. Upon realizing you are fading fast your aunt snaps into action and barks at Dean, “Lay her on the ground, on her side facin’ me." Not wanting to let you go, Dean opens his mouth to argue but your aunt interjects, “Damnit’ boy! That’s a command, not a suggestion! _Now_!"

Acknowledging the urgency in your aunt’s voice Dean swiftly yet gently settles you onto your left side. Panic rises in his throat when he observes the ashen color of your face paling by the second with each shallow beat of your heart. Beginning to panic Sam drops down next to the three of you, babbling almost incoherently, “Oh my god! What should we do?! Dean!” Shooting him the iciest bitch face either Winchester had ever seen your aunt shushes him muttering indistinguishably except for the final word which she hisses louder, “Out!”

Following your aunt’s whispered command your wheezing coughs fill the space, dry hacks forcing something up from within your throat and out onto the carpet. Reaching down your aunt tensely picks up the small item that had been expelled, gingerly holding it between her fingers bringing it up and observing it intently.

Dean’s face fell as it dawned on him, there was no denying it, you had just coughed up a hex bag. Connecting the dots, Dean gathers that based on the level of possession what they were dealing with was no ordinary witch. No, the brothers were up against a witch who was more powerful and sinister than they could have imagined; a witch who would slaughter anything or anyone that got in her way.

A contented sigh comes from where you lie in his arms, returning his attention to you he cradles your form protectively. Relief washes over him as he observes that now with the hex bag gone color begins to warm your cheeks. In a moment of awe Sam speaks before thinking, blurting out, “A hex bag…” Hearing Sam’s uttered exclamation your aunt discontinues the in-depth investigation of the small leather hex bag that is now settled in her palm.

“Sammy!” Dean bites out glaring at his brother, “Shut up, man!” The altercation between the brothers does not go unnoticed by the way your aunt skeptically furrows her brow. Eyes bearing into the startled brothers, darting back and forth, “How’d ya boys know bout’ hex bags…?” Mouth hanging agape Sam attempts to explain, “W-well…uh…you see…we are…”

Abruptly raising her hand she silences him, the features of her face stern, interrupting, “Ne’er mind the shoddy bull shit explainin’ righ' now boys. Sweet Pea needs additional care, and yer friend here seems in pretty bad shape as well. Lemme’ show ya’ to our apartment…”

Persisting to fumble Sam blabs yet again, “Oh! Don’t worry about showing us, we know where you guys live.” Groaning in embarrassment Dean pinches the bridge of his nose huffing a sigh in agitation, “Sammy…Just…Stop…” Gawking in utter confusion your aunt severs the awkward silence shaking her head, “I guess y’all have some explainin’ to do…les’ go.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes by the way I am a total nutter and translated the chant spoken by the aunt in this chapter. It will later be revealed what it all means. ;)


End file.
